About the Authors

LYNNE MARSHALL has been a Registered Nurse in a large California hospital for over twenty-five years. She has now taken the leap to writing full-time, but still volunteers at her local community hospital. After writing the book of her heart in 2000, she discovered the wonderful world of Mills & Boon Medical Romance, where she feels the freedom to write the stories she loves. She is happily married, has two fantastic grown children, and a socially challenged rescued dog. Besides her passion for writing Medical Romance, she loves to travel and read. Thanks to the family dog, she takes long walks every day!

To find out more about Lynne, please visit her website: www.lynnemarshallweb.com

ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over sixty Mills & Boon Medical Romances. As a qualified paramedic, she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending. When Alison is not writing, you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.

CAROLINE ANDERSON is a matriarch, writer, armchair gardener, unofficial tearoom researcher and eater of lovely cakes. Not necessarily in that order! What Caroline loves: her family. Her friends. Reading. Writing contemporary love stories. Hearing from readers. Walks by the sea with coffee/ice cream/cake thrown in! Torrential rain. Sunshine in spring/autumn. What Caroline hates: losing her pets. Fighting with her family. Cold weather. Hot weather. Computers. Clothes shopping. Caroline’s plans: keep smiling and writing!

Hot Single Docs: Giving in to Temptation

NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile

Lynne Marshall

NYC Angels: An Explosive Reunion

Alison Roberts

St Piran’s: The Wedding of The Year

Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08520-5

HOT SINGLE DOCS: GIVING IN TO TEMPTATION

NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile © 2013 Harlequin Books S.A NYC Angels: An Explosive Reunion © 2013 Harlequin Books S.A St Piran’s: The Wedding of The Year © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

NYC Angels: An Explosive Reunion

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

St Piran’s: The Wedding of The Year

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile

Lynne Marshall

Along came Polly…

Surgeon Johnny Griffin’s world stopped when he lost his wife and unborn child. Now only his little patients can brighten Johnny’s day. Until the moment bubbly new nurse Polly Seymour whirls into his ward and turns his life upside down!

She’s the ray of sunshine this brooding doc needs—the only woman who can make him feel alive again. It could be the second chance Johnny’s dreamed of…if he doesn’t let her slip through his fingers.…

Many thanks to Mills & Boon for the opportunity to participate in this wonderful Medical continuity. Special thanks to Flo Nicoll for creating Polly and John, two characters I grew to think of as friends by the end of this book.

CHAPTER ONE

MONDAY MORNING POLLY SEYMOUR dashed into the sparkling marble-tiled lobby of New York’s finest pediatric hospital, Angel’s. The subway from the lower East Side to Central Park had taken longer today, and the last thing she wanted to do was be late on her first day as a staff RN on the orthopedic ward.

Opting to take the six flights of stairs instead of fight for a spot in one of the overcrowded elevators, she took two steps at a time until she reached her floor. As she climbed, she thought through everything she’d learned the prior week during general hospital orientation. Main factoid: Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital never turned a child away.

That was a philosophy she could believe in.

Heck, they’d even accepted her, the girl whose aunts and uncles used to refer to as “Poor Polly”. It used to make her feel like that homely vintage doll, Pitiful Pearl. But Angel’s had welcomed her to their nursing staff with open arms.

Blasting through the door, completely out of breath, she barreled onwards, practically running down a man in a white doctor’s coat. Built like a football player, the rugged man with close-cropped more-silver-than-brown hair hardly flinched. He caught her by the shoulders and helped her regain her balance.

“Careful, dumpling,” he said, sounding like a Clint-Eastwood-style grizzled cowboy.

Mortified, her eyes shot wide open. Sucking in air, she could hardly speak. “Sorry, Dr....” Her gaze shifted from his stern brown eyes to his name badge. “Dr. John Griffin.” Oh, man, did that badge also say Orthopedic Department Director? He was her boss.

She knew the routine—first impressions were lasting impressions, and this one would be a doozy. Without giving him another chance to call her “dumpling”—did he think she was thirteen?—she pointed toward the hospital ward and took off, leaving one last “Sorry” floating in her wake.

At the nurses’ station, she unwrapped her tightly wound sweater, removed her shoulder bag and plopped them both on the counter. “I’m Polly Seymour. This is my first day. Is Brooke Hawkins here?”

The nonchalant ward clerk with an abundance of tiny braids all pulled back into a ponytail lifted his huge chocolate-colored eyes, gave a forced smile and pointed across the ward. “The tall redhead,” he said, barely breaking stride from the lab orders he was entering in the computer.

Gathering her stuff, and still out of breath, Polly made a beeline for the nursing supervisor. Brooke’s welcome was warm and friendly, and included a wide smile, which helped settle the mass of butterflies winging through Polly’s stomach.

Brooke glanced at her watch. “You must be Polly and you’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until seven.”

“I didn’t want to miss the change-of-shift report, and I don’t have a clue where to put my stuff or which phone to clock in on.” Would she ever breathe normally again?

“Follow me,” Brooke said, heading toward another door, closer to the doctor. “I see you already ran into our department director, Dr. Griffin. Literally,” Brooke said, with playful eyes and a wink.

Polly put her hand to the side of her face, shielding her profile from the man several feet away and still watching her. “I think he thought I was a patient.”

“Did he smile at you?”

“Yes.”

“Then he definitely thought you were one of our patients. He doesn’t smile for staff.”

* * *

An hour later, completely engrossed in taking vital signs in a four-bed ward of squirming children wearing various-sized casts, splints and slings, Polly heard inconsolable crying. She glanced over her shoulder. “What is it, Karen?” The little girl had undergone femoral anteversion to relieve her toeing-in when walking, and was in a big and bulky double-leg cast with a metal bar between them keeping her feet in the exact position in which they needed to be to heal.

Polly rushed to the toddler’s crib and lowered one of the side rails. “What is it, honey?”

With her face screwed up so tight her source of tears couldn’t be seen, Karen wailed. Polly could have easily done a tonsil check while the child’s mouth was wide open, but knew that wasn’t the origin of Karen’s frustration. She lifted the little one, who weighed a good ten pounds more than she normally would have because of the cast, from the bed and cooed at her then patted her back. “What is it, honey, hmm?”

Perhaps the change in position would be enough to help settle down the tiny patient. No such luck. Karen’s cries increased in volume as she swatted at Polly, who sang a nursery rhyme to her to calm her down. “Oh, the grand old Duke of York...” Maybe distraction would work?

“Oh, look! Look!” Polly moved over to the window to gaze out over beautiful Central Park. “Pretty. See?” Praying she could distract Karen for a moment’s reprieve, Polly pointed at the lush green trees, many with colorful white and pink blooms still hanging on though late June.

“No!” Karen shook her head and kept crying.

Polly bounced Karen on her hip, as best she could with the toddler’s cast, and jaunted around the room with her. “Let’s take a horsey ride. Come on. Bumpity, bumpity, bumpity, boom!”

“No boom!” Karen would have nothing to do with Polly’s antics.

“I’m going to eat you!” Polly said, digging into Karen’s shoulder and playfully nibbling away. “Rror rror rrr.”

“No! No eat me.”

Felicia, the five-year-old in the corner bed with a full arm cast began to fuss. “I want a horsey ride.”

Polly danced over towards Felicia’s crib-sized bed, which looked more like a cage for safety’s sake. Factoid number two from orientation: hospital policy for anyone five or under. “See, Karen, Felicia wants a horsey ride.”

Now both girls were crying, and all the goofy faces and silly songs Polly performed couldn’t change the tide of sadness sweeping across the four-bed ward. Erin, in bed C, with her arm in a sling added to the three-part harmony. The only one sleeping was the little patient in bed D, who would surely be awakened by the fuss. What the heck should she do now?

“Hold on,” a deep raspy voice said over her shoulder. “This calls for emergency measures.”

Polly turned to find Dr. Griffin filling the doorway. He dug in his pocket and fished out a handful of colorful rubber and waved it around. Making a silly face at Karen, he crossed his eyes, stretching his lips and blowing out air that sounded like a distant elephant. Polly tried not to laugh. Quicker than a flash of rainbow he diverted the children’s attention by inflating long yellow and green balloons and twisting them into a swan shape. Factoid number three: all balloons must be latex-free. How did he get them to stretch like that?

“Here you go, Karen. Now go and play with your new friend,” Dr. Griffin said.

To Polly’s amazement, Karen accepted the proffered gift with a smile, albeit a soggy smile in dire need of a tissue.

“Me next!” Felicia reached out her good arm, her fingers making a gimme-gimme gesture.

Dr. Griffin strolled over to her bedside and patted her hand. “What color do you want?”

“Red,” she said, practically jumping up and down inside the caged crib while she held onto the safety bars.

“Do you want a fairy crown or a monkey?”

“Both!”

In another few seconds Felicia wore a red crown with a halo hovering above, and gave a squeaky balloon kiss to her new purple monkey friend.

Dr. Griffin glanced at Polly, with victory sparkling in his dark eyes. The charming glance sent a jet of surprise through her chest. Blowing up two more balloons and twisting them into playful objects, he handed one to the remaining child and left another on the sleeping girl’s bed, then sauntered toward the door. Was he confident or what? He stopped beside Polly, who had just finished putting Karen back into her crib, and blew up one last balloon. It was a blue sword, and he handed it to her. “Use this the next time you need to save the day.” He glanced around the room at the quietly contented children. “That’s how it’s done,” he said.

Polly could have sworn he’d stopped just short of calling her dumpling again.

He left just as quickly as he’d entered and she paused in her tracks, feeling a bit silly holding her blue balloon sword. Outside she heard a child complaining to the nurse. “I’m sick of practicing walking.”

Dr. Griffin joined right in. “I double-dog dare you to take ten more steps, Richie,” he said. “In fact, I’ll race you to that wall.”

Was this really the man the staff said never smiled?

* * *

Humbled by the gruff doctor’s gift with children, Polly went about her duties giving morning medications and giving bed baths to three of her four patients. At mid-morning the play therapist made a visit, relieving her of both Karen and Felicia for an hour. Erin’s mother had also arrived, which gave Polly one-on-one time with her sleeping princess, Angelica, the most challenging patient of all. She had type I osteogenesis imperfecta and had been admitted for pain control of her hyper-mobile joints. Her condition also caused partial hearing loss, which was probably why the three-year-old had slept through the ruckus earlier.

Thinking twice about waking the peacefully sleeping toddler, Polly gazed affectionately at her then drifted to the desk and computer outside the four-bed ward to catch up on her morning charting.

“How are things going?” Darren, a middle-aged nurse with prematurely white hair pulled back into a ponytail, asked. By the faded tattoo on his forearm, she knew he had once been in the navy.

“Pretty good. How about you?”

“Same as always. Work hard, help kids, make decent money, look forward to my days off.”

So far Polly wasn’t impressed with the general morale of the ward. Everyone seemed efficient enough, skilled in their orthopedic specialties, but, glancing around, there didn’t seem to be any excess energy. Or joy. She found it hard to live around gloom, and had learned early on how to create her own joy, for survival’s sake. Some way, somehow she’d think of something to lift the ward’s spirit, or she wouldn’t be able to keep her hard-earned title of professional people pleaser.

A physical therapist came by, assisting one of the teen patients who did battle with a walker. Polly gave a cheerful wave to both of them. The P.T. merely nodded, but the boy was concentrating so hard on his task that he didn’t even notice.

Orientation factoid number four: Angel’s is the friendliest place in town!

Really?

Polly turned back to Darren. “Can you show me how to work that Hoyer lift? I’ve got a special patient to be weighed, and I need to change her sheets, too.”

“Sure.”

“Sweet. Thanks!”

“Now?”

“There’s no time like the present, I always say.” Polly finished her charting and escorted Darren into her assigned room. Together they gently repositioned and lifted Angelica from the bed. The child stared listlessly at them, her pretty gray eyes accented by blue-tinged, instead of white, sclera. “Are you from New York, Darren?”

“Yeah, born and raised. Where’re you from?”

“Dover, Pennsylvania.” She smiled, thinking of her tiny home town. “Our biggest claim to fame was being occupied overnight by the Confederates during the civil war.”

Darren smiled, and she saw a new, more relaxed side to his usual military style.

“Don’t blink if you ever drive down Main Street, you might miss it.” Self-deprecating humor had always paid off, in her experience.

He laughed along with her, and she felt she’d made progress as they finished their task. She could do this. She could whip this ward into shape. Hadn’t that always been her specialty? Just give her enough time and maybe the staff would actually talk and joke with each other. She accompanied Darren to the door and sat at the small counter where the laptop was, and prepared for more charting.

“Yo. Whatever your name is.” Rafael the ward clerk said, peering over his computer screen. “I’ve got some new labs for you.”

After looking both ways for foot traffic, Polly scooted across the floor on the wheels of her chair instead of getting up. “Special delivery for me? Sweet. I love to get mail.”

He cast an odd gaze at Polly, as if she were from another planet. When he found her lifting her brows and smiling widely, he quit resisting and, though it was half-hearted, offered a suspicious smile back. “Just for you,” he said, handing her the pile of reports. “Don’t lose ’em.”

Brooke came by as Polly perused her patients’ labs. “How’re things going so far?”

“Great! I really like it here. Of course, it’s ten times bigger than the community hospital where I worked the last four years.”

“We call it controlled chaos, on good days. I won’t tell you what we call it on bad days.” The tall woman smiled.

Orientation factoid number five: Teamwork is the key to success at Angel’s Hospital.

Hmm. Maybe the staff needed to go through orientation again?

“As long as we all help each other, we should survive, right? Teamwork.”

Brooke glanced around the ward, with everyone busily working by themselves, and her mouth twisted. “Sometimes I think we’ve forgotten that word.”

Which put a thought in Polly’s mind. As soon as Brooke strolled away, she checked to make sure everything was okay in her assigned room, then went across the ward to a nurse who looked busy and flustered. “Can I help you with anything?”

The woman glanced up from calculating blood glucose on the monitor. “Um.” Caught off guard, she had to think, as if no one had ever asked to help her before.

“Anyone need a bedpan or help to the bathroom? I’ve got some free time.”

The woman’s honey-colored eyes brightened. She pushed a few strands of black hair away from her face. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you ask my broken-pelvis patient in 604 if he needs a bedpan?”

“Sweet,” Polly said, noticing a surprised and perplexed expression in the nurse’s eyes before she dashed toward 604.

* * *

Polly took her lunch-break with two other nurses and a respiratory therapist in the employee lounge. They’d all brought food from home like she had. She’d have to count her pennies to survive living in New York City.

“Is your hair naturally curly?” One of the other young nurses asked, as they ate.

Polly slumped her shoulders. “Yes. Drives me nuts most days.”

“Are you kidding? People pay big money to get waves like that.”

“And people pay big money to have their hair straightened, too,” the other nurse chimed in.

“Well, I can’t pay big money for anything but rent,” Polly said. The two nurses and R.T. all grinned and nodded in agreement. “That’s why I stick to my hairband and hope for the best.” She thought about her most uncooperative hair on the planet, and as if that wasn’t curse enough, it was dull blonde. Dishwater blonde as her aunt used to call it. How many times had she wished she could afford flashy apricot highlights, or maybe platinum. Maybe get a high-fashion cut and style to make her look chic. Only in her dreams. The last thing she’d ever be described as was chic, and hair coloring was completely out of the question these days.

She took another bite of her sandwich and noticed everyone zoning out again. The silence was too reminiscent of her childhood, being shipped from one aunt and uncle to another, and how they’d merely tolerated her presence out of duty. The sad memories drove her to start yet another conversation.

“Do you guys ever go out for drinks after work? I mean, I know I just said I’m counting my pennies, but seeing that it’s my first day on the ward and all, well, I’d kind of like to get to know everyone a little better. You know, in a more casual setting?”

She saw the familiar gaze of people once again thinking she’d arrived from another universe. “How expensive could a drink or two at happy hour be?” she said. “And wouldn’t we miss the rush hour on the subway that way, too?”

“You know, I don’t even remember the last time we went out for drinks,” the first nurse said, forking a bite of enchilada into her mouth.

“Have we ever gone out for drinks?” the second nurse asked, sipping on a straw in her soft drink can.

“I think once in a while we organize potlucks, but...” The respiratory therapist with a hard-to-pronounce surname on his badge said, scratching his head. “I wouldn’t mind a beer after work. What about you guys?”

“That’s a great idea,” Polly said, making it seem like the R.T. had thought up the plan. “Count me in.”

“Where’re we going?” Another nurse wandered into the lounge.

“To O’Malley’s Pub, a block down the street,” the first nurse said. “I hear they’ve got great chicken hot wings on Monday nights, too. Spread the word.”

Well, what do you know, she’d pulled it off. One moment the room had been dead, now somehow she’d managed to infuse some excitement into her co-workers as they made plans to do something different. They smiled and chatted about their favorite beer and mixed drinks, and laughed with each other.

It always felt good to please people. It had been how she’d survived, growing up. She had a long history of perfecting her talent, too. A set of narrowing brown eyes and a raspy voice came to mind. “So who’s going to invite Dr. Griffin?”

All went silent again. Polly glanced from face to face to face as they stared at her with varying expressions, all of which implied she’d lost her mind.

“What? You don’t invite your department head for drinks?”

The first nurse cleared her throat. “Maybe one of the residents but, uh, he doesn’t socialize with us.”

“Yeah. He merely tolerates us, and only because he knows he needs us to take care of his patients,” the second nurse said.

“But isn’t he the guy who approves your raises?”

Three sets of lips pressed into straight lines as they all nodded.

“I dare you to ask him to come along,” the nurse who’d just joined them said, as she finished heating her soup in the microwave. She laughed with the others at the ridiculous dare.

“Double-dog dare?” Polly had never heard that expression before Dr. Griffin had said it that morning, but figured now was the right time to use it.

“Triple-dog dare,” the last nurse said, taking her place at the table and leaning forward with a clear challenge in her eyes.

Polly knew a set-up when she saw one. Let the new girl hang herself with the boss. Well, she’d seen a different side of him that morning and couldn’t believe they’d never seen it too. “How bad can a person be who makes balloon animals for his little patients?”

The four other people in the room looked at each other rather than answer the question. That meant one thing. Polly, the diehard, would have to find out on her own.

As the afternoon stretched on, Polly was surprised by how energized the staff seemed since they’d made plans for after-work drinks.

Even Brooke approved. “This is just the injection of fun we’ve needed around here. I may have to nickname you Pollyanna.”

Polly made her goofy face and shook her head. “Please, don’t.” Even though that was better by far than being called Poor Polly.

At four o’clock, the first shift of the day had ended and had handed over to the next team. Word had spread about everyone going for drinks at O’Malley’s for happy hour, and more than half of the staff had signed on. Some of the evening shift wished they could go, too. Not bad for her first day.

Polly tied her sweater around her waist and licked her lips. “I’ll see you all down there in a few minutes.”

She’d promised to invite Dr. John Griffin, and she always kept her promises. She walked to the far side of the sixth-floor hospital wing. Staring down the hall at his closed office door, she took a deep breath and strode onward.

* * *

Someone knocked at the door. John made a face because it interrupted his train of thought, thoughts he’d been avoiding all day. Just one day. That’s all he asked. One day not to remember images from twelve years ago. One day without memories sweeping over him, wrenching his gut. Was it too much to ask for? There was a second knock. “Who is it?”

All he could hear was some whispery childlike sound, but he couldn’t make out a single word. Irritated, he raised his voice. “Come in. It’s not locked.” He tossed his pen across the desk blotter and leaned back in his chair.

Peering around the opening door were big blue eyes. Those big blue eyes. Son of a gun, it was dumpling, the young woman he’d mistaken for a teenage patient that morning. Damned if he was going to be the first to speak, he sat watching her enter his office. First her head and shoulders came round the door. Next one foot. Then the other foot cautiously followed suit. There she was, as large than life, except in her case that equaled a petite picture of youth and enthusiasm—the last thing on earth, and especially today, that he needed. When the hell had been the last time he’d actually felt enthusiastic about anything?

With one hand behind her back, she cleared her throat. “Hi, Dr. Griffin.”

He sat as still as a boulder. Sure, he’d heard the rumblings about everyone going out for drinks after work that night, and little miss bright eyes being the instigator. Well, he wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t believe in fraternizing with his staff. It didn’t set a good example. And even if he changed his mind, today would be the last day of any year he’d choose to break his hard and fast rule.

“Um...” Polly edged closer one tiny step at a time as he stared her down. “A bunch of us are going to O’Malley’s for some hot wings and beer, and...” She scratched her nose, her eyes darting around the room to avoid meeting his stare. “Well, I was, um, I mean, we were hoping you’d join us.”

“And why would I do that?” Even for him it came out gruffer than he’d meant.

She studied her feet. “To help raise your staff’s morale?”

“Morale? What’s that?”

“When people enjoy coming to work, and work better because of it?” She looked all of fifteen standing there, thick wavy dark blonde hair gathering on her shoulders, saucer-sized eyes, chewing her lower lip, hands behind her back, yet somehow seeming courageous.

Normally, he wasn’t into torture, but she’d been the one to come to him. It might be twisted, but making her squirm also distracted him from those morbid thoughts looping over and over in his mind.

“Are you their sacrifice?” he said. She glanced up, looking perplexed. “Did they put you up for the fall, being the new girl and all?”

“No, sir. I wanted to invite you. It was my idea.”

Her near opaque aqua eyes finally found their mark, and the sight of this young woman staring at him made the hairs on his arms rise. His wife had had eyes exactly like hers. Earlier today, they had been the first feature he’d noticed about the new nurse. Everything else about her physically was completely different from his wife, except those eyes. God, he missed Lisa.

But all the wishing in the world couldn’t bring her back.

“Do they need their morale raised?” he said, sounding dead flat even to himself. Who the hell was going to raise his morale? “Don’t they have lives to go home to every day? Doesn’t that raise their spirits enough without me having to babysit them in a bar, too?”

“They don’t need a babysitter. We’d all like to share a drink together, that’s all.” He saw the pink blush begin on her cheeks and spread rapidly to her neck and ears.

He wasn’t a monster. He felt bad that he’d made her feel so uncomfortable, but someone should have warned her about trying to involve him in anything social. Brooke had clearly fallen down on her supervisory duties.

All he wanted to do was go home, hide in a dark room, and bury his sorrow in a glass of perfectly aged Scotch. The world didn’t need to know that today would have been Lisa’s thirty-sixth birthday. How the hell would it look to be chatting in a bar on a day like this?

“I can’t.” He stood to signal their meeting was over.

“I double-dog dare you.” She grimaced.

He folded his arms and one eyebrow quirked. Was she serious?

With a look of desperation she whipped her arm from behind her back, revealing the silly blue balloon sword he’d made for her earlier. “It’s just that I was hoping to buy a drink for the man who saved my day, today. You and that jar of latex-free balloons on your desk.”

By the earnest expression on her face he knew it hadn’t been easy for her to come into his office and beg him to meet with his staff at a pub. A staff he kept socially at an arm’s length yet depended on, no, demanded they give his patients the best medical care in New York. He’d always assumed their paychecks were thanks enough. Maybe dumpling had the right idea.

He didn’t have a clue, neither did he care, what would make her need to include him. But the employees were all probably at the bar having a good laugh at the new nurse’s expense about how they’d managed to set her up for failure. What a dirty trick. Some nurses really did like to eat their young and this Polly was definitely that. Young. Innocent looking. Fresh. Sweet. Ah, hell, be honest—attractive. He gave a tentative smile. She instantly responded with a bright grin and raised brows, and he was a goner. How could he let someone down with a reputation on the line?

Surely Lisa would understand.

“Okay,” he said.

“Sweet!”

“One beer and you’re buying.”

She nodded, triumph sparkling in her bright blue eyes. “Gladly, sir.” She pointed the way to the door with the balloon sword.

“That stays here,” he said as he passed her on his way out.

She stifled her giggle when he impaled her with his dead serious stare.

One thing she’d already proved to him. This girl...er...woman named Polly was fearless. He liked that.

* * *

John had to admit the tall glass of house draft tasted great and felt smooth going down. His newest nurse, in keeping with her promise, had fronted the money to buy it for him, which made it taste all the better. She really wanted him there. When was the last time he’d been wanted anywhere other than in the orthopedic operating room?

The look of surprise on the faces of the group of nurses and techs when he’d walked into the bar had been worth the effort. Everyone had gone quiet for an instant before slowly winding back up to their usual pub noise. He could only imagine what they thought about him showing up, and wondered if anyone had taken bets. He and Polly had shared a quiet but victorious glance.

Chatty Polly had burned his ears on the stroll over, too. She’d practically burst with excitement explaining how much coming to New York and landing a job at such a famous hospital as Angel’s had meant to her.

Good for her. The world could use more idealistic nurses. Yet he craved the silence of his apartment, where he could sit in the dark and stare out over the neighborhood—remembering the vacancy where the twin towers used to be, nursing his Scotch, which could never fill the bottomless hole in his heart. Shifting his thoughts to the here and now, he took another drink of his beer and gazed at fresh-faced Polly to help banish the image.

She sat beside him on a barstool, sipping pale ale that left a hint of orange on her breath as she continued to chew his ear. “I wasn’t always interested in orthopedics. I saw myself as an emergency nurse.” Her eyes went wide. Even in the darkened bar they sparkled. “That is, until I worked my first shift on a busy night with a full moon.” She covered her face with long fingers and clear-varnished nails, and shook her head, then quickly peeked up at him. “I thought I was going to die!”

Was everyone this animated, or had he quit noticing? He’d be dead between the ears if he didn’t admit she was cute, and likeable. She shrugged out of her sweater and he realized she’d changed her nursing scrubs, which had baby koalas patterned over them, for a clingy pink top that dipped just enough to reveal a full-grown woman’s cleavage.

How had he not noticed that all day?

He took another drink and tried his damnedest not to stare. She removed her hairband and put it inside her combination backpack-purse, and those light waves curtained her face in an alluring way, coming to rest on her shoulders...which led his eyes back to her breasts.

He certainly wasn’t dead. Just severely inactive.

But this wasn’t right, staring down her shirt. He needed to change his focus. “Bartender, the next round for this group is on me.”

Everyone clapped and cheered, even a few people he’d never seen before in his life, and he took another drink of beer, feeling almost human again.

Polly wrapped her arm around his and squeezed. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he said, tensing, staring straight ahead, knowing his answer had come out clipped. He hadn’t made contact with a woman like this in, well, longer than he cared to admit.

She must have sensed his tension and unwrapped her arm but moved closer on her stool. “So, Dr. Griffin, I’ve told you all about me, but I don’t know where you come from.”

The bartender delivered the drinks along the counter, and refilled the bowls with pretzels and mixed nuts.

“I’m a New York native.”

“So your whole family is here, too?”

“My parents retired to Florida a few years back, and my sister lives in Rhode Island now.”

“Are you married? Do you have any kids?”

If Lisa hadn’t been killed he would have been a father of an eleven-year-old by now. But his world had officially ended the day he’d spent digging people out of debris as a first responder on 9/11. His always simmering emotions boiled and he snapped, “Look. I’m here for a drink, like you asked. My personal life is none of your business. You got that?”

A flash of hurt and humiliation accompanied her crumbling smile. One instant she’d been bubbling with life, the next he’d crushed it right out of her. Good going, Johnny. He had no business being around people.

She recovered just as quickly, though, straightening her shoulders and sticking out her chest, eyes narrowing, as if this routine was nothing new to her. “Sorry for crossing the line, Doctor.” She slipped off the bar stool and gathered her things and the glass. “Thanks for the beer.” Then she wandered over to a group of nurses a few stools away and joined in with their chatter.

He chugged down the last of his beer, not touching the second glass. “How much do I owe you?” he asked the bartender.

He knew he had no business pretending to be like everyone else. He should never have let the pretty little nurse talk him into it. He was only good for one thing, and that was fixing kids with broken bones.

As for the rest of his life, well, that had officially ended the day his newly pregnant wife had gone to work and died on the twenty-second floor of the twin towers.

CHAPTER TWO

POLLY HAD SPENT the entire subway ride home seething over Dr. Griffin’s sour attitude. What had she done to turn him against her? After a little cajoling he’d smiled and agreed to go to the bar with his staff. They’d had a brisk and energizing walk to the pub, enjoying the late afternoon sun and moderate June weather. He’d allowed her to buy him a drink, and he’d even made a grand gesture of buying the next round for everyone else.

All had seemed to go according to plan in the people-pleasing biz.

Then she’d asked about his family and the vault door had clanged shut. It hadn’t been mere irritation she’d seen flash in his dark, brooding eyes, it had been fury. Plain and simple.

As she prepared for bed in her tiny rented room on the Lower East Side, where the shared bathroom and kitchen were considered privileges in the five-story walk-up, she couldn’t stop thinking how she’d messed up that night. Clearly, she’d overstepped her bounds with Dr. Griffin. But how? Didn’t everyone love to talk about themselves and their families? That was, everyone except people like her who had miserable memories of feeling unwanted and unloved, like she’d had since her mother had died when Polly had been only six.

She put her head on the thin pillow and adjusted to the lumpy mattress. Of course! How could she be so blind? The man was miserable with his staff. He didn’t like to socialize. She’d dragged him out of his comfort zone and asked him about something very personal—his family—then everything had backfired. Something horrible had happened to that man to make him the way he was. Surely, no one wanted to be that miserable without a good reason.

She had to quit assuming that she was the only person in the world with family issues and that everyone else lived hunky-dory lives. Obviously, Dr. Griffin wasn’t happy about his family situation and she’d hit a nerve with her line of questioning. Maybe he’d gone through a messy divorce. Maybe his wife had cheated on him. Who knew? But he’d attacked with vengeance when she’d dared to get too personal.

She’d let down her guard, let him skewer her with his angry retort, then, wounded and hurt, she’d brushed him off and moved on. In her world it was called survival, but he’d seen a flash of her true self the instant before she’d covered it up, just as she’d seen his. Well, touché, Dr. Griffin.

Polly folded her hands behind her head and in the dim light stared at the cracked ceiling and chipped paint—what could she expect from an apartment built before World War I?—and thought harder. Maybe she’d inadvertently hurt him as much as he’d hurt her, and, man, she’d felt his anger slice right through her. John Griffin wasn’t a person to be on the bad side of. Somehow she’d have to make up for it.

Her eyes grew heavy from the two beers she’d enjoyed at the pub, but one last thought held out until she acknowledged it so she could drift off to sleep with a good conscience. She owed Dr. John Griffin an apology, and first thing tomorrow morning she’d give it to him.

* * *

The next morning at work, Dr. Griffin was nowhere to be found. Polly realized during report that Tuesdays and Thursdays were his scheduled surgery days, and felt a mixture of relief and impatience about getting her apology over and done with. She’d never make the mistake of including her boss in any social event again, even though the staff was already talking about another pub night in two weeks. Something else she noticed today was that everyone smiled at her, which made her feel good and far more a part of the team than she had yesterday. At least she’d succeeded in pleasing some people around here.

Her patient assignment was heavy, and although she only had two patients, each needed a great deal of care. Charley was sixteen and in a private room after he’d taken a header on his skateboard, breaking several bones and his pelvis. Her second patient was in surgery and would arrive later in the day after a short stint in the recovery room. Fifteen-year-old Annabelle would also have a private room, having undergone an above-the-knee transfemoral amputation for localized Ewing sarcoma of the lower part of the right femur.

Polly’s heart ached for her patient. She’d already been briefed that a team of social workers, psychologists, occupational and physical therapists, as well as wound-care specialists, would be participating in her recovery. Polly would take care of the nursing portion, and for today it would mostly be post-operative care—basic and important for pain control and maintaining strong vital signs. She’d guard against any post-op complications, such as bleeding or infection, to the best of her ability. Tomorrow the reality of being a teenager with a leg amputation would require help from each and every member of that specially organized medical team.

“Here, Charley.” Polly handed a washcloth lathered with soap to her shattered-pelvis patient. “You wash your face, neck and chest. I’ll help with your back when you’re ready.”

She believed in letting patients do as much for themselves as possible. Fortunately, Charley had one good arm, and with the overhead frame with trapeze he could lift himself enough to allow her to change the sheets and replace the sheepskin beneath his hips.

She kept a doubled sheet over his waist to give him privacy as they progressed with his bed bath. “Do you miss school?”

He gave a wry laugh. “I miss my friends.”

“How are you going to keep up with your studies while you recover?”

He scrubbed his smooth face and chest with the cloth. “They’re going to send out a tutor or something. School’s almost out for summer break anyway. What really sucks is I was supposed to start driver’s training next month.”

“Do people even drive cars in New York?”

“I live in Riverdale.”

Polly didn’t have a clue where Riverdale was but assumed it was a suburb of the city. She’d never, ever want to attempt driving in New York, where being a pedestrian was risky enough.

She washed his back and changed the linen, keeping casual and friendly banter going. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

“Nah. We broke up.”

Uh-oh, here she went again, venturing into personal information that might cause pain. Would she ever learn her lesson? At least he hadn’t bitten her head off like Dr. Griffin had. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. All she ever wanted was for me to buy her stuff, anyway.”

Whew. “Sometimes teenage girls can be very superficial.”

“Dude, tell me about it.”

Polly gathered the soiled linen she’d heaped onto the floor and shoved it into the dirty-linen hamper just as the door swung open. “Well, look here, perfect timing. Lunch!”

The tall, bronze and buff dietary worker brought in Charley’s lunch tray and placed it on the bedside table. Polly washed her hands and checked to make sure they’d delivered the right diet, with extra protein and calories for the growing and healing boy, then left him alone to eat with the TV on while she got his noontime medicine.

When she returned from her own lunch-break the ward clerk informed her that Annabelle was on her way up from Recovery. Polly rushed to the private room to make sure everything was in order then quickly checked up on Charley, who was fine and playing a video game. She explained she’d be busy for a while but made sure his call light and urinal were within reach in case he needed them.

Just as she exited the room she saw the orderly pull a gurney out of the elevator. At the other end was Dr. Griffin in OR scrubs. It was the first time she’d seen him that day and, taken by surprise, her stomach did a little clutch and jump. Would he still be furious with her?

Focused solely on the task, Dr. Griffin helped get Annabelle into her room. Polly jumped in. “I’ll get this, Dr. Griffin.”

He let her take the end of the gurney but followed her into the room. She’d pulled down the covers on the hospital bed and had already padded the bed with a layer of thin bath blanket, an absorbent pad and had topped both with a draw sheet in preparation for her patient. She checked to make sure the IV was in place and had plenty of fluid left in the IV bag. Annabelle was in a deep dream state, most of her right leg was missing and the stump was bandaged thickly and thoroughly.

“Careful,” Dr. Griffin warned the orderly as he lowered the side rail on the gurney and prepared to transfer the patient to the bed.

Polly rushed to the other side of the bed, got on her knees on the mattress and leaned over to grab the pull-sheet underneath Annabelle toward her. To her surprise, Dr. Griffin came around to her side of the bed and helped out.

“On the count of three,” Polly said, as the orderly prepared to pass the patient over from the gurney while they all tugged her onto the mattress. After she counted, they made a quick and smooth transfer. The patient moaned briefly and her eyes fluttered open, but she quickly went back to sleep.

As the orderly left the room Dr. Griffin gave a rundown of Annabelle’s vital signs, a job the recovery nurse usually did over the phone, giving Polly the impression of how important the operation and follow-up care were to this orthopedic surgeon.

He ran down the list of antibiotics and pain-medication orders as Polly listened and adjusted the pillow under Annabelle’s head. Next she placed the amputated stump on a pillow, checked the dressing for signs of bleeding or drainage, circling a quarter-sized area with her marker and noting the time, then made sure the Jackson-Pratt drain was in place and with proper suction before pulling up the covers.

Dr. Griffin ran his hand lightly over his patient’s forehead, gently removing her OR cap and releasing a blanket of thick and shining brown hair. Such a tender gesture for an angry man.

“I’ll check back later,” he said, giving Annabelle one last, earnest glance before leaving the room. Polly almost expected him to kiss the girl’s forehead from that sincere, loving parent-type look in his eyes.

How could she stay mad at a man like that?

“I’ll take good care of her, Doctor,” she whispered.

He looked over his shoulder and gave an appreciative nod.

Seeing him in his scrubs, OR cap in place, untied mask hanging around his neck, she realized how fit he was, and that his shoulders and arms were thick with muscle. Where he might look stocky in his doctor’s coat, he really wasn’t. He was just big and solid. For a man she suspected to be pushing forty, he was in terrific shape, and she allowed herself a second glance as he walked away.

“Hey, Doc G., you haven’t signed my cast yet!” Charley called out from the next room.

“I’ll sign all three, Charley, my boy,” Dr. Griffin replied in a cheerful manner, changing his direction and somber attitude on a dime.

How could a man who was so great with kids be so lacking in people skills? It just didn’t make sense.

Soon lost in the care of her newly received patient, and also checking periodically on Charley, the afternoon flew by. Before Polly knew it she was giving report to the next shift and preparing to go home. But she couldn’t leave yet. Not before she apologized to Dr. Griffin. She’d promised herself she’d make amends today, and she always kept her promises.

Now that he was back from the OR, she knew where to find him and marched far down the hall toward his office as a new batch of butterflies lined up for duty in her stomach. Refusing to be timid this time, she tapped with firm knuckles on the glass of his office door.

“Come in.”

Mustering every last nerve she owned, she entered far more assuredly than she had the previous evening, noting the irony in seeing a huge jar of colorful balloons on the desk of a generally grumpy man.

“Is everything okay with Annabelle?”

“She’s doing very well, considering.” Polly scratched the nervous tickle above her lip. “I medicated her for pain just before I ended my shift.” She glanced around the room, with requisite diplomas and awards lining the gray-painted walls yet not revealing anything personal about the man, and took a long slow breath. “What I came for. Well, what I mean is I came here to, you know, after last night and how I upset you, I, uh, I just wanted to stop in and...well...”

“Apologize?” He’d changed back into his street clothes and white doctor’s coat. His eyes were tight and unforgiving as they stared at her impatiently. Had she expected anything less?

“Uh, yes.” Why did he make her so annoyingly tongue-tied? “As a matter of fact, I did want to apologize for whatever I did to make you angry last night.” Heat flared on her cheeks. Frustrated by how uncomfortable he made her feel and how he offered nothing to ease her distress by sitting there just staring, she bit back the rest of her thoughts—but you were a jerk about it, and anyone with half a brain could tell I didn’t mean any harm by asking about your family. It’s normal to want to know such things. Sheesh!

Adjusting the neck of her scrub top, along with her attitude, and desperate for him to like her, she continued. “I overstepped the mark, practically forcing you to go out with the rest of us, then I thoughtlessly insisted you open up and tell me about your family.” She held up her hand before he could growl or get angry with her all over again. “Which I understand, as the new girl on the ward, is none of my business. So, yes, I came to apologize. Profusely.”

She sat on the edge of the chair across from his desk before her knees could give out. “And I hope you’ll accept it, because I really want to be a part of this orthopedic team. I want to help you with special patients like Annabelle.” She stopped short of wringing her hands, choosing to lace her fingers and hold tight instead. “I want to help make your job easier by you not having to worry about the level of care your patients receive. I want to be a top-notch nurse, Dr. Griffin. I want to be that for you, sir.” Could she possibly grovel any more?

“Stop it already.” He brushed off her apology with a wave of his hand. “I was needlessly sharp with you last night. I should be the one apologizing.”

“But I started it, sir.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay. I accept your apology. But knock off the ‘sir’ baloney and call me what my friends calls me. Johnny.”

Stunned by his instruction, she could hardly get her lips to move. “Johnny?” For such a simple name it sounded breathy and foreign, the way she repeated it. How could she call the head of the orthopedic department Johnny? Wasn’t that the shortened form for young boys named John? It seemed only families would continue to call a grown man Johnny, yet he said his friends called him that. Was he implying she was now a friend?

“Right. Johnny. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.” The terse words fell far short of carrying a punch, in fact they rolled off her back. Maybe she’d really gotten through to him.

“Sweet.” She didn’t mean to say that out loud and couldn’t stop the smile stretching across her lips. “Thank you, Doctor. Uh, I mean, Johnny.” She emphasized his name. “Thanks so much.” She stood to go, relieved beyond her wildest dreams. How had this mattered so much to her in such a short period of time? She shrugged. All she knew was that her apology and his acceptance of it did matter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Johnny-boy.

“Good, because I want you assigned to Annabelle for the rest of the week.”

“You do?” He trusted her nursing skills enough to ask her to take care of an extra-special patient. This was definitely progress on their ultra-rocky-start.

“Yes. Now would you please leave, or I’ll never get out of here tonight.”

Still smiling, she looked him in the eyes. His had softened the tiniest bit, but she could also see a slight change in attitude. Yes, she could. “Yes, sir.” When she reached the door, calm washed over her and she turned round. “See you tomorrow, Johnny.”

Already back at work, he nodded while writing, rather than look up. “Let’s keep that name between you and me.”

She’d accept that, too. This desperate need for him to like her would have to stop, but for now she was pretty darned glad she’d fumbled her way through the apology, and wondered how many other employees got to call their boss by their first name, even if only in secret?

* * *

John had to admit the sputtering woman on the other side of his desk had been strangely captivating. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she was easy on the eye, energetic, full of life, and had a nice ass, too. When was the last time he’d noticed something like that? Her earnest and unrehearsed apology had done strange things to a few nerve endings in forgotten parts of his body. Not that he was into dominance and submission, but he really liked her baring it all, as it were, by nearly begging him to forgive her.

Hell, he should be the one apologizing to her. He’d treated her badly and had seen a flash of anger in her eyes, which she’d quickly covered up, and instead of calling him an ass, which he deserved, she’d taken the high road. She’d brushed off his remark with a mere flutter of her eyelashes and moved on.

That showed grit, and he liked grit in a woman.

He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bottle of water and took a long draw. Her Pollyanna attitude of be-nice-to-everyone was far from his own style, and probably a cover-up for her insecurities. A wry laugh escaped his lips. Who the hell was he to analyze anyone? His style was more make-nice-to-no-one because he didn’t give a damn. But he had to admit she had a special way with kids. And his staff.

Remembering how she’d given a horsey hip-ride to Karen in her clunky cast yesterday morning made John smile. She’d been in way over her head with that group of toddlers so how could he not have gone to save the day? He knew his kids. Knew pediatrics. That was his comfort zone.

Adults were the issue for him. He didn’t particularly like most adults, merely tolerated them. He had to get along with them if he wanted to continue to run the orthopedic department, and for the past twelve years his motto had been, Do what you have to do to survive, the kids need you.

How had he survived all these years without his Lisa? He pressed his lips together, allowing one little thought about Polly to slip inside his head. She oozed life, something he’d given up on, yet her vibrant approach to things really appealed to him. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought.

Looking around the ward that afternoon, when he’d returned from surgery, he’d seen a more cohesive staff. They had been talking to each other and helping each other, even joking. He’d never seen them so happy.

The question was, had his sour attitude spilled over to his staff, and had this Polly from Pennsylvania saved the day?

Her big blue eyes and trembling lips came to mind. Why had he had the urge to run his thumb over her lips to test how soft they were? More importantly, what was with the impulse he’d had to wrap his hand around the back of her neck and drag her to him to test those lips on his?

When was the last time he’d given a woman permission to call him Johnny? What was up with that? What else might he get her to beg for so he could grant her permission? Most importantly, what in hell were these crazy sexy thoughts she’d planted in his head?

Maybe Pollyanna wasn’t nearly as innocent as she let on. Well, guess what, dumpling, neither am I.

He guzzled more water and scratched his chest, surprised by his thumping heart. Antsy to finish his work and get the hell out of there, he veered his surprisingly sexed-up thoughts away from Pretty Polly and back to dictating his surgery reports for the day. Before he left he’d check on his kids, each and every one—like he did every day before he went home.

Maybe that was the reason he had been out of sorts yesterday at the bar. Maybe it hadn’t been because she’d gotten too nosey, or had threatened his resolve never to feel again, or because he’d wanted to go home and brood, which he had to admit was beginning to get boring, even for him. He’d blame it on not saying goodnight to his kids, because he hadn’t been ready to admit he was a man clinging so tightly to his past he’d forgotten how to socialize with the living.

Polly had rushed him away from work and he hadn’t had a chance to tell all of his patients goodnight, and things just didn’t seem right when he missed saying goodnight to his kids.

Yeah, he’d use that as the excuse for his behavior last night, otherwise he’d seem far too pitiful the next time he looked in the mirror.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING Polly rode the hospital elevator up to her floor. A vibration in her pocket alerted her that a text message had come through her cell phone: B in NY in 2 wks. Have dinner with me? Greg

Rankled, since Greg had dumped her for another girl over a year ago, and she’d been heartbroken as well as angry at the time, she wrinkled her nose and shut off her phone with a harrumph.

“Bad news?” A familiar voice came from over her shoulder.

“Oh.” She turned round. “Dr. Griffin, I didn’t see you there.” There were several people she didn’t know in the overcrowded elevator but she hadn’t noticed him mostly because she had been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t been looking at anyone. Aching from her lumpy bed, already dragging from the daily rush to the subway, getting pushed and bumped the entire commute, and now hearing from an unwelcome voice from her past, she couldn’t begin to paste on a cheery face today.

John edged closer to her. “You don’t look happy.”

She lifted a corner of her mouth. “I’m not. Old boyfriend just texted me.” What did she care if he discovered that little miss Pollyanna from Pennsylvania was a sham, that her carefree moods were manufactured from hard work and years of practice.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding curiously sincere.

“About the boyfriend or not being happy?”

“Both.”

“Really?”

“Don’t act so shocked.” He gave her a John Griffin style smile, which meant it was hard to differentiate the smile between a grimace and/or gas.

“Do you actually notice things like people’s moods?”

“No. Not usually.”

What the heck did that mean? Had her self-deprecating plea last night in his office put her on his pity list? Maybe she’d overdone it.

“Well, thanks anyway,” she said, lifting her brows and glancing toward the neon numbers indicating the floors, having run out of superficial things to talk about. The elevator stopped and several people got off.

He moved closer and whispered near her ear. “You know, you don’t have to put on your forever-cheerful act for me.”

Had he seen through her already? “Gee, thanks.” She didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but he’d just given her permission to show her true feelings, hadn’t he? She glanced to where he stood. There was that gassy grimace-style smile again and a playful glint in his eyes. Why did she find it cute?

Cute? John Griffin?

Maybe it was his mouth, the way the marginally off-center bottom lip curled out ever so slightly, making her want to take it between her teeth and nibble...just a little.

Come on, Polly, the guy is way too old for you. Probably pushing forty. And gruff as a bulldog. Who needs the aggravation? Besides, there was no way he’d ever be interested in her. Yet...that goofy attempt at a smile could only be described as cute. Charming, even.

The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor and everyone else exited. Once the doors closed, John leaned his shoulder on the elevator wall and looked directly at Polly.

“Let’s make a deal,” he continued to whisper. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She lifted her head from staring at her scuffed white clogs with the image of nibbling his lower lip fresh in her mind. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Our moods.” So he had seen through her carefully crafted façade.

“Well, no offense, Dr. Griffin, but I think I’ve already memorized your moods. Moody. Grumpy.” She used her fingers to tick off the list. “Gruff. Did I say moody?”

What do you know, she’d coaxed out a real smile. “Yes. Smartass.” He squinted graciously under fire, his dark eyes showing signs of renewed life. “Don’t forget Bashful and Sleepy, if you’re thinking of naming all of the seven dwarfs.”

“And Doc. You definitely qualify for that one.” She sighed, realizing that whatever this silly game was she was playing with Johnny, many of her cares had already evaporated in the stuffy elevator. By giving her the okay to be who she really was, warts and all, he’d liberated her from being Pollyanna. It felt pretty darned good. Hmm, had he said bashful? Him?

“Bashful? Not you,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The elevator door opened and they got out and headed their separate ways, she giving a genuinely bright smile, thanks to his lightening her mood, and he, well, still looking gassy but with an added spring to his step. That on-the-verge-of-flirting look he’d just sent her way was bound to stay in her mind and keep her smiling the rest of the day. The little fizzy feeling that look had given her hadn’t been half-bad either.

Dr. John Griffin. Bashful? As in let the woman make the advance? Just what else might she be surprised about with him?

As Polly walked to the nurses’ locker room, one more thought popped into her head. Johnny smelled good, too, like expensive aftershave and clean hair. Combine that with his rugged, all-man features and her new interest in the shape and angle of his mouth, thinking it looked all too kissable for a guy with salt-and-pepper hair, for a head of Pediatric Orthopedics, and she lost her step and tripped on the doorframe.

All things considered, Johnny Griffin had done a great job of lifting Polly’s spirits that morning.

* * *

“How’s my girl doing?” John asked Polly, entering the hospital room shortly after she’d taken Annabelle’s midday vital signs.

“Great! Thanks,” Polly said. “Annabelle’s doing really well, too.” She caught and enjoyed the quick confusion in his eyes before he got her joke.

“You’ve got a real smart aleck for a nurse, Annabelle.” He took his patient’s thin hand, and the gesture squeezed Polly’s heart.

Annabelle gave a wan smile, and John lingered over her bed like a fussing papa until she closed her eyes. Polly had given her pain medication through a shot into the hip a few short moments ago.

“The nurses told me she’d had a rough night, complaining about phantom pains, and when she started mentioning them again just now, well, I wanted to make sure she was extra-comfortable today.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Good. We’ll give her some rest now, but by later this afternoon I want her out of bed and in a chair for at least an hour.”

“Got it.”

“Physical therapy will start tomorrow, and the wound-care specialist should pay a visit this evening when her parents are here to discuss dressing changes when she goes home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can knock that stuff off, too.”

“You don’t want me to follow your orders, sir?” Why did teasing her superior feel so delicious?

He took a deep breath, as if trying to suck in patience from the room air. “Are you trying to bug me?”

“Am I doing a good job...sir?”

“Very.”

“Good,” she said, straightening out the bedspread and double-checking the IV rate. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, but she sensed he was enjoying her feisty mood. Would any of his staff ever dare to give him a hard time?

“There’s no excess drainage from the surgical site, and I emptied thirty ccs from the drain at the beginning of my shift,” she said, all business.

He checked under the recently smoothed covers and found the Jackson-Pratt bulb was nearly empty. The quarter-sized marking on the post-op dressing hadn’t gotten much bigger either, as he soon noticed.

“Good.” He lingered at the bedside.

She’d decided, after her pitiful, stumbling apology, and especially their ride in the elevator, that he was a good guy, even if he didn’t know it. He’d had the patience of a saint while she’d fumbled her way through her monologue, and he’d rewarded her by telling her to call him Johnny. Who else on the staff got to call him Johnny? Not that she ever would, at least not in front of anyone else, especially as he’d asked her to keep it to herself.

“Hey, Johnny.” Another doctor entered the room.

So much for the short-lived “special person privilege” fantasy.

“Dave. Come to admire your work?”

“Sure did.”

Polly surreptitiously read the other doctor’s badge. David Winters. Vascular Surgery. Of course, with the amputation they’d have to make sure the stump had proper circulation, and who better to assist the orthopedic surgeon than a vascular surgeon?

“I was going to wait until later to change the dressing, but there’s no time like the present. Polly, can you bring some gauze, dressings, four by fours and paper tape?”

“Sure. Would you like me to bring the Doppler too?”

“Great idea,” Dave said.

She knew it was never too early to make sure there was proper circulation to the wound, and the Doppler would let them hear the blood flowing through Annabelle’s vessels. A lot rested on every step of the recovery. In order to have Annabelle fit for a prosthetic device she’d need to have a strong and healthy stump. The post op-team, including Polly, would do everything in their power to make sure of Annabelle’s success.

After dropping off the supplies, Polly took a quick look at Annabelle’s surgical wound as John had already removed the dressing, and was surprised how clean and healthy the skin flap already looked. Cancer of the bone was a curse, but at least Annabelle would be able to wear one of the state-of-the-art prostheses being created these days. One day, when she was back on her feet and used to everything, wearing slacks or jeans, secure in her gait, no one would ever know that part of her leg was missing.

Later that day Polly took Charley his pills. She noticed the three signatures John Griffin had left on the teenager’s casts, which made her grin. They were big, just like him, and colorful, hmm, and he had much nicer handwriting than she’d ever imagined any doctor could.

“What’s so funny?” Charley asked.

“Nothing. I was just admiring your autographs from Dr. Griffin.”

“He’s cool.”

“Really? He seems so stern all the time.”

“Nah, he’s funny. And he’s the only person who hasn’t given me a lecture about my skateboarding.”

“Well, I guess accidents do happen, but maybe you should be more careful so as not to tempt the fates.”

“Yeah, I get it. And I’ve heard that before, but yolo, you know?”

“Yolo?”

“You only live once.”

So said a sixteen-year-old. “True, but preferably longer than shorter. Right?”

Charley blew her off with a toss of his long-hair. She needed to change the subject back to something lighter, something more interesting for both of them.

“I never would have pegged Dr. Griffin as funny.”

“No? You should see him do his Aquaman drowning imitation. And he can sing like that weird guy who got kicked off that TV talent show last season, too.”

“Are we talking about the same doctor?”

“Definitely. He’s a laugh all right.”

“Never in a million years would I have thought Dr. Griffin was funny or talented. I mean, the man seems to take himself far too seriously, in my opinion.” A second too late, she saw Charley’s eyes go wide.

“Is that so?” Johnny Griffin’s familiar voice flowed over her shoulder.

“Oh! Hey. We were just talking about you.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“So I heard.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to do your Aquaman impersonation for me before I believe Charley here.”

Charley smiled and, amazingly, so did Johnny-boy. A look passed between them like a secret handshake.

“Stop by my office after work and I’ll be glad to give you the whole routine,” he said, sounding as though he might be flirting. Really? In front of a patient?

She pointed at him. “I’m tempted to call your bluff on that, Doctor.”

“I dare you,” he said, a playful, sparkly glint in his otherwise dead-serious eyes. Eyes that were becoming more and more intriguing each time she dared to look into them.

The rock-steady gaze caused a response that zipped down her spine with a surprise destination. What was going on here?

She wasn’t sure, but one thing she was positive about, she needed to leave the patient’s room before Dr. Griffin got an inkling of how much he’d just excited her.

* * *

Polly’s cell phone rang during lunch the next day and she was surprised to see who was calling. It was Greg. She hadn’t responded to his text from yesterday. Why the persistence all of a sudden?

“What’s up, Greg?” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“Did you get my text?”

“Oh, uh, I’ve been working a lot. I guess I missed it.” She wasn’t above lying to someone who’d lied to her. Repeatedly.

He went into his spiel about coming to New York in two weeks and how he hoped to take her out to dinner and maybe even to see a Broadway play. This couldn’t be the Greg she’d once known. Would he actually want to take her to an expensive play on Broadway? Not likely. Unless he’d finally come to his senses about what a prize she was. Again, not likely. Maybe he thought he could come to New York on business and cheat on his girlfriend with her while he was here? As in letting history repeat itself.

She wouldn’t put a sleazy plan like that past him.

One thing was sure—she wouldn’t have to find out if she didn’t accept his invitation.

“Can you give me a couple days to think this over, Greg?”

“Look, I understand I treated you pretty rotten last year, but I’d really like to see you again.”

“Give me a couple days, okay?”

She hung up before he could say another word, desperate to talk over this invitation with someone else. Her best friend back home worked the evening shift and Polly didn’t feel comfortable yet about opening up to anyone on staff about her personal issues.

She ate her lunch in silence, deep in thought, then as she took a bite of her tuna fish sandwich she practically fell out of her chair when one person popped into her head. Johnny. He was the one person on staff she’d made a complete fool out of herself in front of. Now she’d advanced to being able to tell him exactly what she thought and how she felt, even in front of patients and other staff members, much to everyone’s surprise. Hadn’t he invited her to show him hers if he could show her his in the moody moods department?

She’d tested the waters and had had a great time being completely herself around him the last couple of days, and he had invited her to come to his office after work for the Aquaman imitation. She understood he had only put that invitation out there because of Charley listening in, but still.

Besides, the man had to be a good twelve or so years older than her twenty-seven, and there was no way on earth he’d ever be interested in her. So that wouldn’t be an issue. Even if that look he’d given her yesterday had confused her and turned her on.

John seemed level-headed and world-weary. Why not run her dilemma by him? As a guy, he’d have good input for her. It might help her figure out Greg’s true intentions, though she had her own strong suspicions. She’d bought herself two days before she had to get back to Greg.

Maybe Johnny could help her see things how they really were. Now, if she could only work up the nerve to approach him.

* * *

On Friday evening, for the third time in a week, a light tapping on John’s office door interrupted his concentration on the computer. “Come in.”

The best thing he’d seen all afternoon, well, since the last time he’d seen her anyway, which had been two days ago, walked in.

Polly wore black, straight-leg jeans and high wedge heeled shoes with open toes. Red toenails seemed to smile up at him. Her bright blue top clung to her body in soft folds and outlined her breasts and curves in an inviting way. Since when had he noticed what a woman wore, or how much he liked it?

“Finally came to see my Aquaman imitation, did you?” He pretended not to be distracted by how fantastic she looked.

She smiled, a look that spread like warm butter across her face. “Not really.”

“What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“I was going to see a movie tonight, and needed to hang around until eight.”

She brushed her bangs across her forehead. The rest of her hair hung loose and free, something he hadn’t gotten to see while she was on duty or since the bar on Monday night. The waves and curls accentuated her features, big eyes, straight nose, those well-shaped lips, forcing him to realize she was pretty. Damn, she was pretty. “I was just going to pick up some pizza, wondered if you’d like me to bring you a piece, as you’re obviously still here at six-thirty.”

The thought of pizza did sound good, but if she expected him to join her in the employee lounge, she had another thought coming. “You deliver, too?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

What he wanted. Well, the picture of youth and suppleness in front of him gave a whole new meaning to what he wanted. Polly had started a domino effect of interest, attraction, challenge, and all-out lust since her arrival this week. He’d spent more time in the last five days missing and thinking about the wonders of sex than he had in all the years since Lisa’s death. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop himself.

For whatever reason, Polly had the right combination of charm and good looks to make his body involuntarily take notice. The thought was wrong on so many levels yet he couldn’t give it up. She worked for him, for crying out loud, and what about Lisa? Well, that was a whole other matter.

Maybe having a piece of pizza with the new nurse and having his little fantasy of making love to her might add some long-overdue entertainment. That wouldn’t be such a bad way to spend an evening, would it? Compared to his usual Friday nights, a tasty slice of pie and a few naughty daydreams about the new nurse would be a welcomed change.

“You’d actually bring me a couple of slices of pizza, no strings attached?” He could think of a couple of strings he’d like to attach to a place or two on Polly, but that would be wrong on so many levels.

“Sure.”

“You’re too nice for your own damn good, Pollyanna.”

“What goes around comes around, right?”

“That’s only when the world makes sense, and most of the time there’s no rhyme or reason about what’s going on in the world.” Especially now with these crazy thoughts about Polly, which seemed to be growing stronger by the minute. Man, he needed to get a grip.

“Are we talking pizza or philosophy?”

He smiled, letting her youthful beauty warm up his innards and tease at that other kind of appetite he couldn’t shake. “Maybe a little of both.” He sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. Was right now one of those life moments a guy was supposed to grab with gusto, or was he going off the deep end? “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t I scare you off like I do everyone else on the staff?”

She smiled, took a few more steps toward his desk, and perched on the edge of the chair. He liked the way she kept her knees together when she sat, all prim and uptight. He liked the scent of whatever she’d splashed on her skin after work, too. “It takes a lot to scare me off.” She went silent for a moment. “You want the truth?”

Did he really want to find out how a needy people-pleaser like Polly had become that way? It could ruin this perfect storm of a fantasy brewing in his mind. He glanced at Polly, so appealing and open. He needed to quit thinking only about himself. “Nothing but the truth. Lay it on me.”

“My mom died when I was six and my dad couldn’t handle it. He took off without me. Later we heard he’d been killed in a car crash. After that I got shipped from one aunt or uncle to another. None of them really wanted me, though they pretended they did. Even a kid can tell when someone isn’t being sincere, you know?” She gave a wry, lopsided and totally appealing smile. “So it takes a lot more than what you dish out to scare me off.”

Her story snuck around his chest like a vine and tangled up his already confused feelings. It messed with those more basic thoughts floating around in his head, too. She’d been kicked in the teeth, and she’d gotten used to jerks like him giving everyone a hard time. It didn’t settle well on his conscience that, in her world, he was one of the bad guys. Why did one person get kicked in the gut and become unbearable, while another learned to be sweetness and light. Exactly what kind of a heel had he turned into since 9/11?

He had a sudden need to make up for all the times he’d been an ass to her. As hard as it would be, he’d banish those sexual thoughts she kept stoking in his head and show Polly some long-overdue respect. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you let me buy you dinner? I know a great Italian joint round the corner.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let you do that.”

“But you will.” He stood, took off and hung up his doctor’s coat on the rack behind his desk, and walked towards Polly. “Let’s go eat. I promise to have you back in time for your movie.”

She stood and looked at her backpack and lunch container, and the small plastic bag with her soiled scrubs.

“Leave that stuff here,” he said. “You can pick it up later. I promise to get you back in time for your movie. Besides, I’ve got to come back to say goodnight to the kids.”

Her widened eyes showcasing those baby blues looked as though they were calculating a gazillion reasons why she shouldn’t let him take over her dinner plans, yet she stood mute. If she’d had any clue how she turned him on, looking at him like that, she would run for cover.

Wondering how long he could keep his poker face, he took her elbow and nudged her along. “Come on, come on, let’s go, I’m hungry.” He’d use being gruff as his cover, because right now the feel of her skin beneath his fingers set off a whole new list of thoughts he hadn’t dared to think in ages.

She lifted her brows higher, which seemed impossible, as if she’d felt something in his touch, too. “Okay, Johnny.”

* * *

The Italian restaurant named Giovanni’s was less than two blocks away, and though Polly’s wedge heels weren’t exactly made for walking—she’d planned to change into flats before heading for the subway home—she enjoyed the exercise. Being in a big, noisy, polluted city, surrounded by skyscrapers and cement—albeit with many well-kept neighborhood parks, not to mention Central Park to soften the blow—made her miss home. John looked after her as they juggled their way through the passing crowds, ignored crossing lights, and jaywalked to their destination.

Giovanni’s was everything she’d hoped for in a restaurant—quaint, quiet, romantic, with tall, thin breadsticks waiting at each table and a handsome young waiter ready and willing to serve the diners. For a Friday night, the place was half-empty, and Polly wondered if it had anything to do with the food. Or if the time being only six-thirty in the city that never slept might have something to do with the small turnout.

Johnny knew the waiter by name and ordered a bottle of Chianti and a medium cheese pizza plus two dinner salads, without giving Polly a chance to change her mind about pizza for dinner. The list of pastas and seafood was impressive, but she had said she was going out for pizza, so she didn’t fault him for that. She even kind of liked John’s take-charge approach to all things in life.

While in his office she could have sworn there had been a flash or two of something in his eyes, after he’d ordered he gazed at Polly as if noticing her for the first time that day. That interesting curl of his lip stretched into a regular smile, like he was surprised and happy at what he’d found sitting across from him.

“I’m going to be straight with you and say I like your hair down,” he said, shaking out his napkin and putting it on his lap, sounding more like he was reading the first order of business at an admin meeting than paying her a compliment.

“Thank you.” A warm flush moved in a wave up her neck to her cheeks. Polly couldn’t exactly say the sensation was unpleasant, and by the appreciative glint in his eyes he must have found her turning red appealing, which made her face heat up even more.

She’d noticed a few things about him on their walk over, too. Like the fact that he filled out his slacks really well and his broad back made even a man of his size look like he had narrow hips. He walked like a guy on a mission, too, which made it extra-hard to keep up, especially dodging traffic and crossing streets in her wedge-heeled shoes.

The Chianti came quickly, and after downing half a glass of her ice water Polly looked forward to sharing a glass of wine with her boss.

“So,” he said, crossing his hands on the table top. “How did your first week at Angel’s go?”

“Really well, thank you.”

He nodded then took a long draw on his wine, all the while staring into her eyes. He seemed to hold the wine in his mouth before swallowing, as if savoring the flavor and aroma. Oddly, his sensual care with the wine set off tingles across her shoulders. He soon diverted his stare over her shoulder and, she assumed, through the window to the busy street.

“I’ve got to say, I’m rusty with this sort of thing,” he said.

“What sort of thing?”

“Taking a woman out to eat.”

Dr. John Griffin didn’t date? Even with his gruff shell, that surprised her. He was a good-looking man, a doctor with a gentle heart for his young patients, a...well, she wasn’t sure what else he had to offer, but she’d figured he had a full life.

“Don’t think twice about it. I practically forced you to do it, so...”

He hushed her by putting his hand on top of hers, and with a no-one-forces-me-to-do-anything look stared her down. “I wanted to.”

His touch sent her reeling, and though she thought she might jump out of her seat, she settled and went all quiet, taking in the full significance of his message. Why would he want to spend time with her? She was a country bumpkin, a girl still searching for herself. Sometimes it was better to drop all the questions and just be polite. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He shook his head. “Knock off the ‘doctor’ nonsense. We left that back at Angel’s, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, as she took her first sip of the strongly flavored wine. “Johnny.”

That got an interesting look out of him, one that made her replay her earlier blush.

Midway into her second piece of pizza she’d finished her wine and let John pour her another glass. Another sip or two later, plus more pizza, and she remembered what had really been on her mind since earlier in the week, and why she’d gone to John Griffin’s office in the first place.

“May I run something by you?” she said.

“Sure.” His mouth was full of the best pizza Polly had tasted since she’d gotten to New York.

She took another drink of wine and placed the glass on the sparkling white tablecloth. “I’m in a dilemma about something and don’t know what to do.”

He, swallowed, looking very interested in her line of conversation. “Go on.”

“I’ve had a bad history of men walking all over me and, well, last year I got dumped by a guy back home. I’d really had it with men after that, and part of the reason I moved to New York was to move on and start a whole new life.”

She could read his body language. Shoulders hunched over the table, his chewing had slowed down. He squinted. This was not a topic of conversation he was interested in but she needed to discuss her options with someone, and tonight that someone was John Griffin.

“So, anyway, a couple of days ago I got a call from Greg, the guy who dumped me without warning last year. He’s coming to town and wants to take me out to dinner. He doesn’t mean anything to me any more, but I’m thinking he at least owes me a nice dinner, plus he mentioned something about taking me to a Broadway play, too. I know it may sound superficial of me, but I was thinking I deserved some kind of explanation and maybe he’d tell me what was up last year.”

He sat perfectly still, hands fisted on the table for a few silent seconds, his expression impossible to read. “He wants to screw you,” Johnny said curtly, before taking another drink of wine.

She winced from what felt like a slap in the face. “You don’t think I should see him?”

“That depends if you want to get screwed or not.” His irritated gaze delved into hers, sending a crazy mixed-up message right down her center. Had she just annoyed him? She sat straighter, using the table to help her balance. Did she want to have sex with her ex? Had she even thought about it in the last six months?

No.

Not until the last few days, that was...and Greg wasn’t the face to come to mind when she did think about sex. Oh, cripes, could Dr. Griffin read her mind? Did he have any idea she had the hots for him?

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her napkin across her plate. “I should never have brought up the subject. It’s just that I don’t have anyone to talk things over with. The lady I rent a room from is probably eighty if she’s a day, and my best friend works evenings in Pennsylvania, so it’s not like I can pick up the phone after work and talk.”

“You asked my opinion.” He tugged on his earlobe. “I’m giving it to you straight,” he said, his eyes darting around the room in an agitated way. “Unless you want to have sex with the jerk who dropped you last year, don’t go near him.” He looked at her as if she needed to have a psych referral.

“You’re right. I was leaning in that direction, too,” she said, mostly to her plate. “I won’t even call him back or text him. Thanks for helping me see that more clearly.”

Polly sensed a change in John’s suddenly irritated mood when she spoke those last words. He inhaled subtly and took another drink from his wineglass, then glanced at his watch.

“We should probably get you back to the hospital to pick up your stuff so you’ll have time to get to that movie,” he said.

She lifted her chin and gave an exaggerated nod. “Right.” She’d blown it. A perfectly lovely dinner with her boss. Until she’d opened her big mouth about some other guy. Could John be jealous? Of course not.

The walk back to the hospital was quiet between them, but the streets, which had come to life with people heading out for the Friday night, weren’t. Across the way, Central Park looked hauntingly beautiful in the twilight. John strode on, not saying a word, hands in his pockets, a man on a mission. She did her best to keep up, but her feet were killing her.

“Thank you for buying dinner, Johnny,” she said, the only words she could think of. Hoping to remind him he’d given her permission to call him that.

“Any time, dumpling.”

That got a smile out of her. He was a paradox. She’d been around many gruff men in her life, but had never cared what they’d thought before. Staring at his profile in the dimming light, she saw a proud man, a talented surgeon, a man respected, if not liked by his peers, yet a man loved by his patients. A man she suspected hid something awful behind his gruff demeanor. Truth was, she found him more and more intriguing and attractive by the moment.

Beginning on Monday, she’d steer clear of him, especially after making a fool of herself by asking him for relationship advice. Whatever had made her think that was a good idea?

Since there was no way in hell she’d ever have a chance with a man like Johnny Griffin, what was the point of being around him? Because she liked him? Found him sexy? The thoughts caused her to pause on the pavement.

That’s when he reached for her hand, wrapping his long, strong fingers around it, and pulled her brusquely along the crowded street toward Angel’s.

CHAPTER FOUR

POLLY TAGGED ALONG behind John at a fast and challenging clip. They rushed through the hospital lobby towards the elevator, past the “welcome” clown pacing on stilts and the piano player, who was smack in the middle of “Old MacDonald”. Diverse entertainment for visiting hours. He moved like a man with a single thought on his mind—how to dump his dinner date. Yet he never let go of her hand.

Still not saying a word on the crowded elevator trip to the sixth floor, he tugged her down the hall and, having left his office door unlocked, whisked it open, practically dragging her inside. Only then did he release his grip. She went directly for her bags and personal items, assuming he wanted her gone. Now.

Why had she thought that offering John Griffin pizza was a good ice-breaker in order to bring up her question about whether or not to go out with an old boyfriend? All she’d done had been to tick him off.

He stood off to the side, staring out the window, hands crammed into the pockets of his slacks, looking like he was doing battle with a slew of demons in his head. Had she done that to him?

“I feel like you’re mad at me,” she said, stating the unmistakable.

He turned abruptly. “I’m not mad at you, I’m angry about how you try to please everyone else and overlook yourself.”

She bunched her hands into fists. “I’ve had a lifetime of practice. Old habits die hard, you know?”

He tugged his earlobe. “I know.”

Relieved that he wasn’t fuming at her but was more irritated at her situation, a wave of mismatched feelings swept deep, causing confusion in her mind and her eyes to water. She glanced away.

“If you don’t mind—” her voice sounded congested “—I’ll change out of these shoes for the subway first.”

He turned and watched as she sat on the edge of a chair. “I thought you were going to the movies.” The man had gone tighter than a stretched rubber band and the muscle at his jaw twitched as he blatantly ground his molars.

“It was a comedy, and I’m kind of not in the mood now.”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“It isn’t because of you.” She slipped off one shoe. “I guess I just realized how tired I am. It’s been a long day.” She stretched out her foot and toes. “A long week.”

His gaze jumped all over her, from her face to her chest to her hips and legs and finally to her foot. His expression changed from indecision and caution to longing and oh-what-the-hell. Something had snapped in him, some decision Polly wasn’t privileged to know, yet his change was as plain as the sudden jangled nerves in her stomach. He made an abrupt move, came in front of her and dropped to his knees. Without a word he handed her his handkerchief for her teary eyes then removed her other shoe. His warm, strong hands caressed her foot, sending shockwaves through her.

Polly stiffened as the idea registered of John Griffin giving her a foot massage. She inhaled raggedly while he gently worked the ball of her foot and the arch with amazingly talented fingers. Soothing sensations tiptoed up her calf, causing tingles behind her knee.

Oh, my God, what do I do?

A crazy answer popped into her mind as she wiped away the tears from her eyes with his monogramed handkerchief. Enjoy it.

He splayed her toes and worked each joint right out to the tips of her nails. She tensed and sighed, and felt his touch all the way up the insides of her thighs, though his hands never left her foot.

“The problem with women these days,” he said, increasing the pressure on her heel, “is they mess up their feet with these super-sexy shoes. All men want to do is get them off.” She looked down at his short-cropped, silver-salted hair, discovering a small endearing cowlick in the middle. His voice sounded hoarse, strained, like maybe he really was mad at her. Yet his hands told a completely different story. Was he turned on? “I say that as an orthopedic surgeon.”

That made her smile, his rubbing her feet in such a sexy way yet trying to pull off a professional manner. He was looking out for her well-being, though, wasn’t he? His ministrations were so amazing she couldn’t help but sigh again, so he reached for her other foot. Call her easy, but her shoulders slumped and her head dropped back, savoring the heat of his hands on her totally susceptible skin.

“You’re too kind to me,” she whispered, shifting her gaze from the ceiling to his serious face as he concentrated on the task at hand—her foot. Her incredibly lucky foot. Her mind wandered to what it would be like if his hands touched her everywhere like that.

“This isn’t about being ‘kind’ and you know it.” He stopped his massage and delved into her eyes as if measuring the level of her understanding. She concentrated on his mouth and the hair-thin scar above his upper lip on the right. The growing warmth between her thighs weakened when he stopped touching her, but she’d read his message loud and clear.

He wanted her.

Just as much as she wanted him.

At some point, as he’d stood by that window, he’d made a decision. She’d sensed it then and felt it with every fiber now. Saw it in the serious dark eyes staring at her. Whatever he’d needed to overcome, he had, and now...he wanted her.

A deep desire to break out of her usual by-the-rules role and not to let this magical moment pass made her lean towards him, take his life-weary face between her hands and press a kiss to his irresistible mouth.

Surprisingly soft, his lips were warm and responsive, and he soon took over the advance, proving her hunch had been right. He needed her as much as she wanted him. His hands clamped around her waist, squeezing with urgency as he deepened their kiss.

She ran her fingers across his short, springy hair then down his powerful neck as she kissed him back. Solid. The man was solid. She smelled his lingering forest-scented cologne and enjoyed the end-of-day stubble of his beard. His tongue found hers and she let him have his will, matching exploration for exploration and tasting a hint of Chianti. The warmth pooling between her thighs quickly renewed as her pulse thrummed throughout her body.

A sharp knocking on the office door shocked her out of her dream about kissing her boss. Oh, wait, it was really happening.

“Environmental Services,” a loud voice called. “Dr. Griffin, are you still in there?”

“Just leaving, Constantine, give me a couple of minutes.” His voice sounded heavy and forced. Heat radiated from John’s darkened eyes as he stared at her. “I know a place we can go. Will you come with me?”

The question of the day—will you come with me?

Overcome with his no-nonsense sex appeal, his smoldering gaze, and their incredible kiss, there was only one answer she could think of.

“Yes, Johnny,” she whispered, banishing from her mind their age difference and concentrating on their total attraction to each other.

He hastily gathered her things as she used the back of her hand to wipe her already kiss-swollen lips, trying her best to recover from the mind-bending introduction to making out with Dr. John Griffin. She could barely wait for more as he grabbed his jacket and her hand and led the way out.

“Goodnight,” he said in a clipped voice to the janitor as they passed, as if he dragged a woman from his office every night of the week and Housekeeping should think nothing of it.

Was the fact that she was barefoot a dead giveaway to what they’d been doing?

The janitor had his back to them, concentrating on his cleaning cart, and she was grateful as John whisked her down the dark hall toward the stairs.

He led her through the back way and down a couple of flights to another deserted floor, then past half a dozen doors to an open on-call room. Rushing her inside, he hung up the “occupied” sign and closed the door behind them. Immediately, he dropped all of her bags and items into a chair and took her by the shoulders, walking her backwards against the wall.

“Where did we leave off?” he asked gruffly, digging his fingers into her hair before taking her mouth again.

His kisses were hot and wet and making her dizzy with desire. She bunched his shirt in tight fists, wanting him as much as he obviously wanted her. His hand wandered over her hip, skimming her waist and upwards until he found her breast. His other hand cupped her bottom and pulled her flush to his groin. She could already feel his arousal straining against her thigh. Knowing how she affected him excited her beyond any fantasy.

His kisses grew frantic and desperate, and his fingers found their way under her bra. Her breast was already tensed and peaked and he ran his thumb over the tip, which tightened her more. Tingles fanned across her chest, teasing her other breast. She angled the V of her thighs over his erection, and leaned hard into him, yearning for relief. He moaned and pulled her up, positioning her on top of his wedge. She slid over him, begging for more, hating the fact that they were still dressed.

Breaking apart only because she wanted to be without barriers, she raised her arms and he lifted her top over her head in record time. She reached behind and undid the catch on her bra as he unzipped his pants.

“Should we be doing this?” she asked, her eyes adjusting to the darkened room, seeing him stripping in front of her and realizing there was no turning back. Not for her, anyway.

“You started it.” He kicked off his loafers and dropped his pants. Thickly muscled legs, like those of a Grecian god, made her gasp inwardly.

“I didn’t think it would get this far.” Impatient to be skin to skin with him, she moved fast and jerkily while her clothes refused to co-operate.

“It has.” He helped her break free of the bra then moved her into a beam of slanting streetlight that had snuck into the room, and took the time to look at her topless and vulnerable, conveying with his eyes how much he liked what he saw.

Her nerves were quickly overcome by her desire, and after an eager glance at him she definitely liked what she saw, too. A combination of jitters and excitement flitted along her skin. He clamped his mouth on a breast, kissing and sucking, while he pushed on the waist of her pants.

On board with the total program, Polly understood this would be no-frills sex but long-overdue passion that could only be released in a flash and never fast enough. Ready for anything, everything, she squirmed out of her tight jeans and underpants while trying not to lose contact with his body.

Soon back to having her pressed to the wall, he sealed his lips tightly to hers and his heavy erection pressed into her belly. The rush and aroma of hot skin and stimulation made her squirm with need. His hand slid between her legs, fingers quickly discovering how ready she was. He positioned himself and she lifted her thigh and wrapped her calf around his waist so he could find her entrance.

Angling his full erection, he hesitated. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the Pill.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy him, and he launched into her, releasing a sizzling sensation that spread across her hips. A few more thrusts and she’d molded to his length and thickness, her moisture slickening him more with each move. The internal burning turned to smoldering and soon fire as he pushed into her over and over, setting off bells, whistles and alarms on every surface he touched.

It had been over a year since she’d made love with anyone, and her tightness intensified the sensations rolling through her pelvis and soon connecting with the shivers in her breasts. She ached for more as he drove into her again and again, thrilling her, making her beg he’d never stop.

Under the hold of his strong arms, her body banged against the wall. He emitted deep, throaty sounds as he continued to bury himself inside her hard and fast, seeming desperate to have all of her. As if humanly possible, he grew harder with each thrust. Though wanting to ride with him all the way to his climax, she couldn’t hold out. Her mounting thrill became too intense to control as crazy sensations spilled out and over her like demons storming through her body. She gasped and bit his shoulder as she came, helpless to stop the powerful release. His continued forceful rhythm extended her climax until she was as limp as a ragdoll against him.

With an “Ahh” he came and she felt his warmth spread inside. With spasm after spasm she adjusted her hips and drew him even deeper than he’d been as he crumpled against her. They stayed in that position, she limp, he holding her flush to the wall, locked tightly together until every last tingle and pulse from the top of her head to the tips of her breasts and all the way down to the soles of her feet completed their course.

Taking her chin in the V of his hand, he bussed her lightly on the lips. Near feral eyes burned into hers when he drew back. “I’m not through with you yet,” he whispered.

Too numb to speak, she stared at him mesmerized, completely willing to be with him again, however he wanted it.

Still bound together, he carried her just as they were against the wall towards the small bed, as if she were a feather. With her legs still wrapped securely around his hips, he slowly and gently placed her beneath him on the mattress, careful not to lose their point of contact. Amazingly, he was still firm.

With a serious-as-hell gaze he lifted her arms above her head and clamped one hand tightly around her wrists, binding her to the bed. He bent and took a breast into his mouth and cupped the other with his free hand. Minutes passed with his soft, sexy torture of kisses here and nips there, his intensifying touch drawing her nearer and nearer to frenzy. When she squirmed and tried to free her hands he held her firm, completely in charge. Already on overdrive, every touch, nibble and kiss sent her reeling. She wanted more and more.

After a few more minutes he grew harder inside her and slowly began to move in and out, each thrust building force. Still a prisoner to his hold, she moved the only part she could, her hips. She matched his pace, adjusting her position to bring him closer, being rewarded with amazing sensations gathering and tightening in her core. Within a few more minutes he was back to full strength, and as he drove faster and deeper, her thrills intensified, coiling so tight she neared another release.

As if he could feel her mounting climax around him, still clamping her hands over her head, he broke contact with her breast, accelerated his thrusts, and smiled devilishly at her. “There’s definitely an advantage to having sex with a people-pleaser,” he said, quickly finishing her off.

Embarrassed by how easy she’d been to conquer, again, she laughed while she came, a complete first for her. He let go of her wrists and rolled onto his back, bringing her along. She straddled his waist and held tight, soon taking him right where she wanted him, helpless to resist her and completely at her mercy, just as she’d been with him only moments before.

After he’d come, she smiled down at him, kissed and licked the crease of his curled lips. “I’m not through with you yet,” she said.

It was his turn to laugh. “So I have died and gone to heaven, huh?”

She rubbed her breasts across his chest and nestled into the crook of his neck, taking his earlobe between her teeth. “I haven’t even known you for a week, Johnny,” she whispered into his ear.

His hands cupped her bottom and squeezed tight, sparking new desire. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Crazy good?”

“Definitely.”

* * *

Before dawn, Polly woke up tangled up in John’s arms and legs. The word “crazy” occurred to her again as she disengaged, used the shower, dressed and snuck out before John woke up. As it was her weekend off, she couldn’t be seen sneaking out of the on-call room by any of her co-workers arriving on Saturday morning for the day shift without stirring questions. Fully dressed, hair damp and on her shoulders, she tiptoed outside, but not before glancing over her shoulder at John, who slept peacefully, then she quietly latched the door.

Lying there, listening to Polly shower and dress, John played possum when she left. Truth was he didn’t know what to say to her. They’d amazed each other with great sex half the night, finally collapsing from exhaustion in each other’s arms only a few short hours ago. He’d never let go so soon or so easily with anyone in his life until Polly the people-pleaser had arrived on his doorstep.

He scrubbed his face to help him wake up. What the hell should he do now? It was so out of character for him to screw an employee. The thought of running into her on the ward would be awkward as hell after everything they’d done to each other. How could he keep professional with her now?

He wasn’t looking for a relationship. She was too damn young for him. Too sweet for her own good. Too wild and crazy in bed for a man still pining for his wife. He would be just as bad for her as that jerk she’d come to talk to him about. Why did the thought of Polly being with another man make his blood boil again, especially now that he’d made love to her? What right did he have to feel possessive of her? Wasn’t he as bad as that guy after the way he’d brought her here to the on-call room for the sole purpose of making love until the burning she caused inside him finally stopped?

Thinking about her this morning, he realized the desire for her hadn’t come close to burning out. But it had to. John Griffin didn’t have gratuitous sex, especially with someone vulnerable like Polly. Or someone he worked with. He sat at the side of the bed, ran his fingers through his hair as he stood and headed for the shower. What about Lisa?

There were too many questions, but only one answer seemed to solve them all. He’d avoid Polly as much as possible, and once he worked out in his head just what the hell had happened last night and why, he’d explain to her that it was unethical and could never happen again. She’d have to understand.

That was his plan, and he’d have to stick to it, because he wasn’t about to change his just-getting-by personal life for a flighty young thing like Polly Seymour.

* * *

Polly got on the subway heading for the Lower East Side. Not knowing what to say to him, she hadn’t been able to get away from John fast enough. What had gotten into her? Granted, he’d taken her to the on-call room after giving her the most incredible foot massage of her life and, well, they’d taken the natural course from there. And wow. She hadn’t held back, and neither had he. Never in her life had she done such a thing, had sex with a man she hardly knew. A man she worked for!

Sitting on the hard seat of the subway train, she wondered if everyone in the car, which was thankfully only a handful, could see her flush until her ears burned. She rested her head against the cold window and stared out at the quickly passing darkness. She wasn’t about to act needy around Johnny Griffin. No. That would turn him off quicker than her kisses had turned him on. She’d have to ride out this awkward situation, see where John took it. As far as she was concerned, it was up to him to approach her. After the way she’d made love with him, the man at least owed her a thank you.

Allowing her mind to drift back to the night before and some of the amazing things that had occurred, she remembered that “thank you” swung both ways. Holy cow, did it ever.

* * *

On Monday morning Polly arrived at work with trepidation. Her palms tingled and her stomach clenched at the thought of facing the head of Orthopedics. Doubt upon doubt had cropped up over the weekend. Was having sex in the on-call room how Dr. Griffin initiated all the new nurses?

In her heart she knew that wasn’t true. He loathed interacting with his staff, and after a week on the job she hadn’t heard any rumors about his personal life...just that he was a loner who preferred the kids on the ortho ward to adult company.

Surprised to see that Annabelle had already been discharged, she took report on all new patients. Today she’d be nurse to four pre-teens in various sizes and shaped casts in a group ward.

In the middle of taking vital signs she heard John’s voice outside. Nerves unfurled through her center, making her hands shake. Still unprepared to face him, she prayed he’d stay out in the nurses’ station area and not come into her room.

The deep, masculine tone carried over the usual noise of the ward as he spoke to Brooke. “Tell your nurses to get their kids ready by nine.”

Polly was still getting used to the non-stop activities of Angel’s Children’s Hospital. They even had an on-site radio show in the lobby, and often the kids were the subjects of interviews. The play therapists didn’t allow the patients to zone out on video games or too much TV. They kept them interacting with other patients with games and challenges where everyone could participate. If a child was too sick to leave their room, they’d come to them.

Volunteer grandmothers and grandfatherly types regularly came for one-to-one bedside reading, and the children ate it up. Especially with the man who looked like Santa on his day off in a Hawaiian shirt and golf cap reading Harry Potter cover to cover.

Polly snuck a look outside her room just in time to see John turn and walk back toward his office on the far side of the hospital wing. Though not a tall man, his broad shoulders reminded her how strong he was. A quick flash of him naked and carrying her to the bed in the on-call room had her cheeks burning.

“Why’re you red?” the girl with waist-length black hair and a full leg cast asked. “Do you have a fever or something?”

“No. I’m fine. Don’t you ever blush?”

“Not unless I’m embarrassed. Are you embarrassed?” Her insightful, inquisitive eyes made Polly’s skin crawl.

“Maybe a little.”

“Why?”

Polly glanced around the brightly decorated four-bed ward, where stenciled sports equipment and swaths of primary colors made the white walls pop, as she searched for either a dodge or a believable answer. One thing she’d quickly learned working with kids was they could tell when someone wasn’t being straight with them.

“I just remembered something I did over the weekend.”

“Did you get hammered?” The young one’s bright black eyes suddenly seemed far too mature for twelve.

“No. And how do you even know what ‘hammered’ means?”

“My sister goes to college.” She tossed half of her hair over her shoulder, in a gesture that advertised she knew everything about being a grown up and drinking too much in college.

As if that explained and closed the topic, Polly let the subject drop, but not before she noticed John Griffin’s signature on the girl’s cast and she felt her cheeks flush again. Did the man sign every single cast on the ward?

As promised, at nine o’clock sharp a raucous brass quartet blustered onto the ward playing circus music, as if a parade would follow. Polly had gotten each of her patients into wheelchairs and rolled them to the center of the ward just in time. One of her girls wasn’t the least bit interested in the music, instead staring at her cell phone, until the trombone player swung by and hit a low note by extending the slide right under her chin. It shocked and delighted her and Polly laughed along with the patient, especially when the girl glanced up and saw a good-looking college guy, and her eyes brightened.

In mid-laugh, Polly glanced up and caught John’s gaze from across the room. It seemed a trapdoor had opened in her chest, and her heart skidded to her ankles. Maybe it was the circus music.

She couldn’t inhale.

Attempting and falling far short of the mark, she gave some semblance of a smile, and in return he gave that half grimace, half smile he was so adept at then quickly looked away.

Could things get any more awkward?

By Wednesday afternoon, having great sex with John Griffin had started to seem more like a figment of Polly’s imagination than fact. He’d drifted in and out of the hospital ward like a ghost leaving hints of things out of place, or the tell-tale scent of his woodsy aftershave, or an icy chill spiraling down her spine. Not once did he try to confront her, and she’d vowed to steer clear of his office no matter how much she wanted to chew him out for being so cold and inconsiderate for leaving her dangling and insecure since Friday night.

On Thursday morning the pet therapy Dalmatian made rounds, stopping beside Polly’s toddler patient, Eugenia. The child had fallen from a two-story window and broken both arms, and had been taken into protective services after being admitted to Angel’s. She was withdrawn and moody, and Polly didn’t know how to reach her or make her comfortable. But Dotty the Dalmatian brightened the child’s gray eyes with interest, and soon a smile crossed her lips as Dotty licked her fingertips.

Warmth washed through Polly’s down mood, and she grinned at her young charge, then was rewarded with Eugenia smiling back. Simple things. Small steps. This was the way to put a life back together, as Polly only knew too well from her own childhood.

“May I talk to you?” From behind, the familiar voice made her eyes go wide. It was John. Adrenaline sprayed like scattershot throughout her chest. She schooled her expression before she turned.

“Sure,” she said, acting as if nothing, especially her ego, had been flipped sideways since they’d had mind-blowing sex.

Leaving her patient with Dotty and the pet therapy lady, she followed his long and purposeful strides toward the supply room.

When they arrived, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want this to be offensive or anything,” he said in a nearly inaudible voice, “but I think you should take some STD tests.”

So this was all about medical business, about the messy little clean-up committee for being reckless with the new girl. He may not have wanted to offend her but pure insult made her send him a cutting glance. “Why, Doctor? Have you jeopardized me?”

“No!” he rasped. She could see the vein on the side of his neck pop out.

“But you worry I may have...”

“No,” he said, in a strained whisper. “I’m just being practical.”

She latched onto his eyes and stared him down. “For your information, I don’t sleep around. I don’t have any surprises to give you, so I’ll skip. Thanks.” She turned to walk away, trying her best to save what was left of her pride, but he caught her by the elbow and held her back.

“We were completely careless.” He spoke quietly, directly into her ear. Even now, under the worst possible circumstances, the touch of his breath on her neck made her skin prickle. She looked up at him. His dark eyes peered into hers in warning. “As a doctor, I can’t be negligent. I’ve ordered some tests for you.”

“What about you?” she said, hackles fully raised and ready to fight.

He looked thoughtfully at his OR clogs. “I checked out okay.”

“Then what’s the point of me—?”

His flat expression warned she wasn’t about to like his answer. “Because I’m not the one who can get pregnant, even if you’re on birth control pills.”

Stunned by reality, she swallowed around a dry knot. She’d already told him there wouldn’t be a problem—didn’t he believe her? Since he was being such a jerk about everything today, she wouldn’t argue.

Desperate to save face, she shrugged free of his hold. “I’ll handle the tests myself, thanks,” she said as she walked away, trying her best to stand straight and look confident, while feeling anything but.

That night, still fuming, she stopped at the corner ma and pa grocery store and found a pregnancy test purporting to identify a pregnancy within seven to ten days after the missed period. But Polly hadn’t missed her period, which wasn’t due for another three days. Would she be able to hold tight and wait for three days then buy the test? The blood test John had ordered could tell much sooner than the urine test, but her pride had tripped her up and kept her from consenting. She was sure that just because John Griffin had ordered the test and the results would be sent to him, he wasn’t going to be the first to know if, and that was a very big if, she was pregnant or not.

Of course she wasn’t pregnant. She took her pills every night as directed.

For some illogical reason, that night when she prepared her dinner she made sure it was well balanced and nutritious as one short phrase whispered in her mind—What if?—which was quickly followed by a heavy brick of panic landing in her stomach and replacing her appetite.

* * *

Monday morning, officially late for her period, Polly showed up at work withdrawn and anxious. Dread trickled down her spine as she remembered the antibiotics she’d taken a few weeks back for a sinus infection. It was a known fact that antibiotics could interfere with the potency of birth control pills for up to two weeks. It had been more than two weeks since she’d taken them, though, and that kept her hopeful all would be fine.

“Hey, Polly, how’s it shakin’?” the ward clerk Rafael asked as she passed the nurses’ station.

“Meh,” she said, and walked on.

“What? If you’re not in a good mood, how the heck am I supposed to be?”

She stopped in her tracks and saw honest surprise in his dark chocolate-colored eyes. “I guess you’ll just have to work extra hard at it today, Rafe ol’ buddy.”

“That’s cold, forcing a man to be in a good mood for no good reason all on his own.” He laughed. “See, even in a bad mood you make me smile.”

“What’s this I hear about little Miss Sunshine being in a foul mood?” Brooke said, approaching Polly and putting her hand on Polly’s shoulder. She rubbed back and forth. “You okay?”

Did her face have to be an open book?

“I’ve been better.” She should have gotten her period on Saturday, but so far there wasn’t even a hint that it was on the way. She had a question she wanted to ask Brooke, but didn’t want to be blatant about how a person went about getting a pregnancy test done at Angel’s, so she decided to wait for a better time under less obvious circumstances.

On Wednesday morning, Brooke assigned her once again to Eugenia, who was constantly being assessed and visited by social services, play therapists, speech therapists, and just about every doctor on staff. Polly looked forward to spending the day with a little girl who needed love as much as she did.

During Eugenia’s bed bath, Polly tickled and teased the child to get her to laugh, which she did more easily this week than last.

“Mornin’, peanut,” a woman with a heavy Texan drawl said. “How’s my girl today?”

Polly looked up to see the beautiful blonde Dr. Layla Woods. “Can you say good morning for Dr. Woods, Eugenia?”

“Mun.”

Dr. Woods smiled at Polly, then at Eugenia. “That’s very good.”

Polly loved her accent. As Dr. Woods warmed the child up with a game of peek-a-boo and then delicately did a quick physical assessment of Eugenia, Polly studied her flawless complexion and gorgeous Texas-bluebell-colored eyes. She’d seen her before on the orthopedic floor several times making general medicine rounds, always smiling and gracious. Always approachable.

Polly had heard rumblings about Dr. Woods and the head of Neurosurgery, Dr. Alejandro Rodriguez, the most gorgeous man on the planet. Bar none. But she didn’t want to get caught up in hospital gossip and had paid little attention to the stories.

She looked back at the doctor, who’d finished up her examination of Eugenia with a tap on the tip of the toddler’s nose. Dr. Woods could easily be a cover model or actress with her good looks, but there was an added ingredient, sort of like a secret sauce, that made the whole recipe of Layla Woods extra-special. Perhaps seasoned by her own life, the woman oozed compassion.

And that’s when it hit her. No risk, no gain, right?

Polly cleared her throat and worked up the fortitude to ask the question of the day. “Dr. Woods, um, may I ask you a favor?”

“Sure, whatcha’ need?”

“Could you order me a pregnancy test?” she mumbled, embarrassed.

“A pregnancy test?”

Polly wanted to shush her, but didn’t have the nerve, instead lowering her lashes and staring at the floor. The perceptive doctor quickly caught on.

“Oh,” she whispered, looking around. Thankfully no one else but the toddlers were in the two bed-ward. “Sorry. Certainly. I’ll order that right now. You want a blood test, right?”

Polly nodded. “Thanks so much.”

Dr. Woods winked, jotting down Polly’s last name from her name badge, then Polly gave her medical record number.

“Your secret’s safe with me. Good luck, whichever way you hope it turns out.” She smiled and after pinching Eugenia’s cheeks and kissing her forehead the lovely doctor left the room, heading for the nearby computer to input that order.

At the end of her shift Polly stopped at the lab to have her blood drawn. After a long day and a crowded subway ride home she was hot and exhausted and didn’t look forward to taking those five flights of stairs up to her room. A room that didn’t even have air-conditioning. If this was how it got in early July, how would she survive the rest of the summer?

While making a mental note to buy a big fan, she let herself into the apartment. Mrs. Goldman, her landlady, sat in the tiny, dim living room watching TV and didn’t even look up, which Polly was glad about. The last thing she wanted to do was get sucked into one of her landlady’s long and meandering stories tonight. After a snack she slipped into her room and took a nap.

A couple of hours later she decided to check her e-mails and saw the notice from Angel’s hospital about her test results. Quickly accessing the hospital patient medical records program, she went into her account, eager to end this chapter in her book of life’s mistakes. The sooner she knew all was clear, the faster she could close the door for good on John Griffin and move on. She’d sweep her regretful actions into a corner and forget about them, like she had so many other things in her life. Though forgetting her incredible night with John would take a lot of effort.

Opening up her lab test page, her hopeful attitude got hitched to gravity and plummeted into an abyss. Positive. The blood test was positive.

Prickles of fear stormed like a battalion across her skin as her entire body went hot.

She. Was. Pregnant.

CHAPTER FIVE

FRIDAY MORNING, JOHN sat at his desk on the computer finishing up the last of his administrative work, the thing he liked least about being a department head. If he had his way he’d do surgery every day, but he needed to play fair and share the admin duties with his orthopedic surgical staff.

Out of habit, he glanced at the spot on his desk he’d always looked when in doubt, but it was empty. He’d already forgotten that he’d put the framed photograph of his wife in the desk drawer the previous week. He hadn’t been able to look at her picture without feeling guilty since he’d slept with Polly...even though it had been twelve years since Lisa had died.

He wasn’t a saint, he’d been with a woman here or there over the years, but never had he gotten involved, and he liked it that way. That was, until Polly and this alien desire to get involved. Very involved.

He thought about her every day, relived their lovemaking in his head at the craziest moments, and even though he’d handled everything monumentally badly, he still smiled when he thought about her lively blue eyes, sexy grin, and perky young body.

Polly the people-pleaser extraordinaire.

At thirty-nine he was too young for a midlife crisis, wasn’t he? With his elbow on the desk, he sank his chin into the palm of his hand and looked out the window. Damn, he’d become a moony teenager all over again.

Couldn’t he just apologize to her for being so crass and start over?

Truth was he wanted to, and he’d never thought of himself as a coward...

The tap at the door yanked him from his thoughts. “Come in.”

When Polly stepped into the room, looking tired and worried, something thick and cold dropped in his stomach and she got his full attention. Barely able to lift her eyes to his, she walked toward his desk.

He shot up from his chair. “Are you all right?”

She sighed and sat, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. “Yes, actually, I am.”

He sat, not wanting to be a pushover. “Can you forgive me for being a jerk?” His mouth had gotten a jump on his cool-and-calm plan.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On how you react when I tell you something.”

Another sinking feeling slithered down John’s throat. What messy surprise was she going to spring on him? Would she tell him she never wanted to be with him again when he’d just realized how much he wanted to know her better? He sat perfectly still, keeping her in his line of vision, waiting for her big announcement. To cover his insecurity, he went the tough route.

“I’m a big boy. Don’t worry about me.” He thought about picking up his pen and pretending to continue to work on his papers, blowing her off, just to show her how absolutely fine he was with however she planned to dump him. Yes, he was a busy, busy man, who would hardly notice if she dropped out of his life.

Liar.

She put her fingertips over her mouth and watched him, as if gauging his true feelings. Shaking her head, she glanced at the floor then back up at him. “There’s no easy way to put this.”

He went still, sensing the heaviness in the room gather into a giant cloud directly over his head. This wasn’t the Polly he knew. This Polly seemed like she’d been steamrollered by life, not the bright young woman she’d been when she’d first arrived at Angel’s...before they’d made love.

Pretty lousy effect you have on women, Griffin.

Okay, he’d made a snap decision. He wouldn’t mess up her life one more day, no matter how badly he wanted to get involved. She didn’t deserve a moody old fart like him.

“I’m pregnant.”

He’d let her go, break it off clean— What?

“You’re pregnant?” He’d checked his lab reports every day and hadn’t seen her results. “And you know this how?”

“I asked Dr. Woods to order a blood test for me.” She raised her hand. “Before you say another word I want to tell you straight out that I will not end this pregnancy. And I don’t intend to give up the baby for adoption.” She looked into his eyes, hers shining from moisture. “I know how it feels not to be wanted...” her voice broke with emotion “...and I won’t let my baby go through that.” She swallowed and sat quietly, obviously trying to hold herself together.

He’d heard everything she’d said. He’d paid attention. Yet he needed to repeat the words, to make them real, and help them sink in. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes.”

With his hands on his desk, perfectly still, he leaned forward, trying to get his mouth to move so he could ask the question What do we do now? but nothing came out.

“And no matter what you say...” she stared at him out of those determined, teary eyes, having the same effect as reaching into his chest and wrenching out his heart “...I’m keeping this baby.”

His baby. She was keeping his baby. He’d never thought he’d have a chance at a family again. A nugget of hope planted itself in his heart, filling a long-forgotten hole. He almost smiled at the absurdity of how he’d become a father at thirty-nine—from one amazing night in on-call.

Not since his wife had told him she was pregnant had he felt such a flash of joy.

A baby. A family.

But that had been long ago, and six weeks before 9/11. When he’d loved and lost both his wife and unborn child. When he would have gladly given his own life in exchange for theirs.

A jet of fear shot through his chest and strangled the breath out of him. He couldn’t speak as a flashback of the hopeless feeling that had nearly ended his life—and had surely ended his wife and future child’s life—played out in his head. The horror of that day. The frantic need to find her in the rubble. The sinking feeling as reality had put one foot in front of the other and stepped ever closer to ripping his life apart, as it had for so many others. The desperation when hope against all the odds had lost out and he’d found out she’d been killed. That he’d never kiss Lisa again, never hold her, never welcome their baby into his arms.

Oh, God, he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t bear the pain if anything happened to this baby...or Polly. He’d used up an entire life’s worth of pain and sadness already. He couldn’t spare one more...

“Are you all right?”

Polly’s gentle voice broke through his thoughts. Even when confessing her predicament, she’d put him first. Was he all right? What about her? Was she all right with him getting her pregnant? Of course not! Yet, trouper that she was, she’d come to tell him she was keeping their baby, whether he liked it or not.

He tried to unclench his fists, to act as if he hadn’t just relived the worst day of his life. Unfortunately, his expression must have been a snapshot of his true feelings, and Polly was a solid people-reader. Perspiration moistened his upper lip. He rubbed it away.

“Yes, I’m all right.” He took a deep breath, knowing it would be impossible to invest emotionally in this pregnancy. At least he could be a civilized man and offer financial support. Surely she couldn’t do this on her own without his monetary help. He ground his molars and lifted his eyes to meet her steady and earnest gaze. “How much do you think you’ll need?”

His hands shook so badly he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to hold a pen if she agreed to let him write her a check. He held onto the desk rim to hide his shaking.

He may as well have slapped her face by the way she flinched at his words. “Pardon?” Anger, like an offshore squall, gathered in those luminescent blue eyes. Her face tensed, incensed. “You think I came here to ask for money?” Her voice quivered with barely controlled rage. “You want to pay me because you knocked me up?”

Of course she’d take it the wrong way. She didn’t have a clue what he’d been through, and he sure as hell didn’t have the strength to tell her now. He had to hold it together, to be the worst kind of bastard on earth in order to make it through this meeting. No matter what she thought of him, she at least deserved to be well taken care of.

He tugged his earlobe. “That’s right.” His jaw was so tightly locked the words had to squeeze themselves out.

Her obviously escalating fury forced her to stand. Her cheeks blushed red, her eyes looked wild. “You bastard!”

It was her turn to verbally slap him. “This pregnancy isn’t some little problem you can clean up with cash. For me it’s sacred!” She stormed out of the room and slammed the door, leaving the glass and walls shaking as much as his hands.

Ah, hell. He picked up his pen and tossed it across the desk. Could he have handled the situation any worse?

* * *

Almost a week later Polly helped her favorite LVN, Darren, start an IV he’d accidentally dislodged. She sat at the hospital bedside with her IV kit prepared and in reach. Children were always a challenge, and the little boy had started screaming the moment he’d realized what the “lady nurse” was going to do to him. Darren firmly held the six-year-old’s arm to the bed, his other arm safely secured in a cast and sling. With Darren’s free hand he pressed against the boy’s knees to control the fidgeting legs.

Starting an IV on a child that was freaking out was bad enough, but hitting a moving target was nearly impossible.

She wiped the skin with disinfectant and slipped on gloves. His wails escalated.

“Mikey, if you hold still for just a couple of seconds, this will go a lot quicker,” Darren said. “Then I’ll play Battle Star with you, I promise.”

Fortunately, that morning the high school of performing arts had sent a troupe of street performers to their ward. A lanky kid in a fluorescent green shirt and a bright red beret appeared at the doorway, juggling neon yellow and blue bowling pins. He edged to the side of the bed, capturing the boy’s attention.

The moment the child became distracted Polly slid the needle into the vein and anchored it with tape before Mikey’s delayed protest made him squirm again. His mouth gaped as the juggler pretended, in an exaggerated way, to almost drop a pin.

“It’s all over,” Polly said. “Just need to tape it, Mikey.” She wasn’t even sure he was listening. “Then you can kick Darren’s patootie in Battle Star, okay?”

The relieved child looked at his arm to make sure Polly hadn’t lied, just as the juggler migrated to the next room.

Darren glanced at Polly, winked and smiled. She smiled back, then patted Mikey’s shoulder. Teamwork. It was the only way to survive in a hospital.

Teamwork in a pregnancy was pretty darned important, too.

Leaving the room, she almost ran into John, who was holding a tiny patient and watching the juggler as he switched to multicolored balls. It had been a week since she’d told him she was pregnant and had stormed out of his office after he’d insulted her, and he hadn’t lifted a finger to contact her since. She yanked herself back before they made physical contact, as her heart nearly hurtled out of her chest. “Oh, sorry,” she said, by rote.

He handed the tiny patient to the nearby nurse then steadied Polly by holding her arms. “My fault. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She stared at his feet, rather than look at him, furious with him, the feel of his warm hands on her skin almost her undoing. What could she say that she hadn’t already confessed in his office, and he’d frozen her out, tried to pay her off, leaving her hurt beyond comprehension? She’d calmed down since then for her baby’s sake, and from now on her baby would be the only thing she cared about.

She stepped back, removing her arms from his grasp. The last thing she needed was for anyone on staff to become suspicious about them, or find out about their predicament. Her predicament, as he’d have nothing to do with it. The pregnancy would be apparent to everyone soon enough.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, under his breath.

“Fine. Thank you.” She walked away, pretending her legs didn’t feel like noodles, holding her head high. She felt his eyes on her, but refused to turn round.

“Dr. Griffin! Dr. Griffin!” a child’s voice cried out. “Will you make me an elephant?”

“I’ll make you two elephants, if you’ll quit giving your physical therapist such a hard time, Nate.”

Did he even give a damn about her?

The boy laughed, and Polly could practically see John messing his hair and pretending to punch him in the arm with the cast. The man was a natural with kids, yet he’d chosen to ignore his own child.

* * *

Later that day, when the opportunity came up to work a double shift, Polly jumped at the chance. She’d need to work lots of double shifts to earn as much money as possible while she could for her and the baby.

The evening staff had a whole different feel from the day crew. Gossip seemed to be their favorite pastime, and Polly got an earful from another RN named Janetta, a large woman with a loud voice. When Janetta spoke, everyone listened.

“You know that pretty new blonde doctor, Layla something or other?” Janetta said.

“Dr. Woods?” Polly asked.

“Mmm-hmm. That’s the one. She talks weird.”

“She’s from Texas.”

“That’s right, honey. That’s the one.” Janetta leaned forward and looked around. “Guess who she’s having an affair with.”

Polly didn’t have a clue, neither did she want to know, but something told her Janetta was about to tell her anyway.

“Dr. Dreamy himself. That hunk from Neuro, Dr. Rodriguez.”

Come to think of it, Layla and Dr. Rodriguez would make a perfect couple, but Polly kept her thoughts to herself. “How do you know they’re having an affair?”

“Everyone knows it. Where have you been? It’s the talk of the hospital. Goes way back. I heard from a good source that it broke up Dr. Woods’s marriage, too. It must be true, ’cos she’s single.”

The thought of her own and John’s personal business getting spread all over the hospital like poor Dr. Woods and Dr. Rodriguez made her skin prickle.

From the corner of her eye she noticed John entering room number one. “Goodnight, Chloe and Sandra. Sleep tight. See you in the morning light.”

She’d never been here before for John’s nightly ritual.

He zipped into the next room. “Jason and Brandon, don’t give your nurses a hard time or you’ll have to answer to me. Have a good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow.”

How would John hold his head up at work if their affair became fodder for the hospital gossip mill?

As for herself, she couldn’t wait to be a mother, single or not. Finally she’d have a baby to love and cherish and they’d be a family, just the two of them. She thought about Dr. Woods and wondered if she had a clue what was being said about her, and decided not to participate in this grapevine.

She thought about telling Janetta that unless she knew for sure about something, she shouldn’t pass it along, but didn’t want to get on Janetta’s bad side. Instead, she nodded her head and let Janetta give her the rundown on several other people having affairs in the hospital, while listening to John enter each patient room and wishing the children a good night.

Soon enough her name would be added to the jilted-lover list.

Polly kept her thoughts to herself and to avoid John went back to caring for her patients, thankful that visiting hours made the floor busier and noisier than usual. The chaos still wasn’t enough to keep her from thinking about her own situation, though.

She’d have to get used to the evening staff as she planned to work at least two extra shifts a month from now until she went on maternity leave. She would have to in order to make ends meet, and there was no way she’d let John pay her for getting her pregnant. She’d never take his guilt money.

Thankfully, she’d get medical coverage through Angel’s hospital after her probationary two months. She’d have to hold tight until then to have her first prenatal appointment. Since she didn’t have a clue how to find a good obstetrician in town, she’d have to be discreet about getting a name without alerting the rest of the staff to her situation.

During her dinner break Janetta and someone Polly had never seen before joined her at the only table in the nurses’ lounge.

“This here is Vickie. She’s the receptionist up in hospital Administration offices.”

Polly greeted her, but wondered what she was doing hanging around the hospital after hours. The look on Vickie’s face made Polly think she was bursting with something to say.

“I thought we were going to be alone,” Vickie said to Janetta.

“Oh, you can trust Polly. Now, spill. What’s the big news you have for me?”

Vickie licked her lips as excitement widened her eyes. “You’ll never believe what happened today.”

“Go on, go on.” Janetta practically rubbed her hands together with glee.

“Okay. Well, Dr. Woods got called up to the offices today. She showed up all solemn-faced and nervous. When they buzzed me and I told her to go inside, girl, she looked scared.” Vickie took a big bite of bread and chewed quickly.

Janetta impatiently gobbled some of her dinner, as if not wanting to miss a single syllable. Polly wished she could disappear, but knew if she walked out Janetta would peg her as someone she couldn’t trust with good old-fashioned gossip, which would make Polly an enemy, so she stayed in her chair, quietly nibbling at her meal.

Vickie’s eyes brightened. “Okay, so a couple minutes after Dr. Woods is in the room, guess who comes barreling through the office doors?”

“Tell me, oh, tell me. Not...”

“Yes. Dr. R., and before the door can close I hear him say ‘I insist Dr. Woods’s name be cleared’.”

“Cleared from what?” Janetta looked like she was sitting around a campfire hearing a famous urban legend being retold.

“I think this has to do with some surgery on a kid back in Los Angeles that they got sued for. But get this. I sort of got out of my chair and went over by the door so I could hear better. He says, ‘She’s a gifted doctor with much to offer our hospital, and she shouldn’t have her name dragged through the media because of a surgery I agreed to perform’.” Vickie put on a horrible accent, and Polly’s stomach twisted with guilt, listening. “‘I was the person who was charged in that malpractice suit, not Dr. Woods, and I was cleared.’ He went on to say that he knew the surgery would be high risk, and if they wanted to lay the blame on anyone, it should be him.”

“Oh, my God, this is something.”

“Yeah, so next thing I know, Dr. Woods rushes out of the offices and out the door and Dr. Rodriguez keeps yelling at them. The last thing I heard was, ‘No, you listen to me. The verdict was no malpractice. Make it public, then!’”

Janetta was practically salivating over this news. Polly sat silent, watching the two women live vicariously through someone else’s drama. It just didn’t seem right.

Later, while exiting her patient’s room, she noticed the nurses’ station had gone quiet. She glanced up and spotted across the ward the very doctor Janetta and Vickie had been talking about at dinner. Polly waved and rushed to her side, not caring how it looked to her co-workers.

“Hi,” Dr. Woods said with a genuine glad-to-see-you smile.

“Hi. I wanted to thank you for arranging my test, and ask another question if you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. What’s up?”

Polly guided Dr. Woods to a more private spot, noticing Janetta’s eagle eyes watching. She lowered her voice. “I was wondering if you could recommend an obstetrician who is close by the hospital.”

Layla raised a perfectly arched brow. “So the test was positive,” she whispered.

Polly gave one solemn nod.

Layla patted her forearm. “Let me ask around, since I’m kind of new in town myself, and I’ll get back to you, ’kay?”

“Thank you so much.”

“Darlin’, it’s my pleasure. We girls gotta to stick together. You know?”

Overwhelmed by the doctor’s care and genuine concern, once their hushed conversation had ended, Polly decided that regardless of the hospital gossip about Dr. Woods having had an affair with the head of Neurosurgery while she was still married, Polly would be Layla Woods’s number one fan.

* * *

Polly could barely breathe when on the following Thursday the case involving Dr. Woods and Rodriguez went public at Angel’s. She read the memo addressed to the hospital staff about a boy named Jamie Kilpatrick and a high-risk neurosurgery that Dr. Woods had recommended to Dr. Rodriguez. One thing stood out beyond everything else: Dr. Rodriguez had valiantly taken full responsibility for the boy’s death.

One major question crossed Polly’s mind. Why would Dr. Rodriguez put his career and reputation on the line to protect Dr. Woods? She didn’t need to think for long. The man was obviously in love with her, just like Janetta had said. Wow, what must it feel like to have someone love you that much?

* * *

That night Polly combed the aisles of her local market, hunting for healthy food. Her routine in the mornings had always been to buy a couple of pieces of fresh fruit from one of the street carts near the hospital. She’d bring a yogurt from home for morning break, then a sandwich for lunch, usually tuna, and eat the second piece of fruit. Now she worried she wasn’t getting enough vitamins. She grabbed a bag of baby spinach, deciding to sauté it with oil and garlic and serve it for dinner over the chicken breast she’d just picked up. Eating for two was a big responsibility, and she wanted her baby to have the best opportunity possible at a healthy start.

Eyeing a package of her favorite cookies, she steered away. This pregnancy business would be harder than anything she’d done in her life, but she was determined to have a successful pregnancy.

The thought of a healthy baby brought back the need to see an obstetrician in the next couple of weeks. With fingers crossed that Dr. Woods would come through for her, she paid for her groceries and headed home.

* * *

John stood over his six-burner state-of-the-art stove, grilling salmon. He’d gutted the old-fashioned kitchen when his parents had sold him their condo at a steal before moving to Florida. Now he had a kitchen that connected to the flow of the house, instead of hidden behind a wall. The 56th Street, near Sutton Place address was perfectly situated for work, plus he had the East River within walking distance whenever he felt like taking a jog. With two bedrooms and baths, a living room, which he’d expanded by breaking down a small third bedroom wall, and the new roomier kitchen, he lived comfortably for a New York City bachelor.

Tri-colored squash sautéed in a small pan and the brown rice steamed in another. He loved to cook and wasn’t shy about letting people know. While cooking, he wondered if Polly was taking good care of herself, and how she might enjoy this meal. Flipping the fish, he realized he didn’t have a clue what she liked to eat beyond cheese pizza. For all he knew, she hated fish.

She was carrying his baby. Every time he thought about it, the breath squeezed from his lungs.

With everything under control dinner-wise, and Polly solidly implanted in his mind, he dug out his cell phone and called a forgotten friend. “Geoff, it’s John.”

The old medical school colleagues went through a required, though brief catch-up time, then John broached the true reason for his call. “I was wondering if you’d do me a favor. One of my ortho nurses just found out she’s pregnant, and she needs a good OB guy. I told her I knew the best. Any chance you could squeeze her in?”

Geoff asked John to hold while he flipped through his calendar and, taking this opportunity, John checked the salmon and veggies, then opened his kitchen catch-all drawer, hunting for a pad of paper and a pen. Soon Geoff was back on the line with an appointment date and time.

“Fantastic. Thanks so much.” He tugged his earlobe. “Oh, by the way, send me the bill.”

By the brief silence on the other end before Geoff agreed, John figured he hadn’t pulled the wool over his old classmate’s eyes. Yes. John Griffin had knocked up a nurse. His nurse. Polly.

* * *

On Friday afternoon Polly was in the middle of hanging intravenous antibiotics for her newest post-op patient when John appeared at her side. Her hand trembled as she placed the small bottle of potent medicine on the hook and opened the drip regulator. She got mad at herself for letting him have that much power over her and hoped he hadn’t noticed. He was in his OR scrubs, having followed the surgical patient back to the ward.

Having already received report from the OR recovery nurse, she knew Emanuel had been in a car accident, had broken his left leg, and needed to have a metal plate and pins to secure his bones back in place.

“I wanted you to have this.” John handed her a small piece of paper.

She stared at it instead of reaching for it, thankful that Emanuel was completely out of it and in a private room so no one else would hear them talk. “What’s that?”

“It’s an appointment with the best OB guy in the city.”

Hesitant to take anything from John, she shook her head. “That’s okay. I’ve got someone else in mind.”

John tugged his ear. “You need to let me be involved in this, too.”

“Why, John? The other day you wanted nothing to do with me or our baby,” she whispered spiritedly over Emanuel. “You wanted to pay me off.” She wanted to sound indignant, but it came out hurt.

“Look, there’s a lot to get used to for both of us. I’m just asking you to give me time.”

She snatched the paper from his fingers. “You think I don’t understand how much we both have to get used to? And as for time, well, you’ve got approximately eight months to work it out.” She glanced at the appointment, next Thursday at four p.m. with a Geoffrey Bernstein. It was perfect for her work schedule, she’d give him that. Then she noticed the address. Park Avenue? “Forget it. I can’t afford this guy.”

“It’s all taken care of.”

It stalled her for a second, but she quickly recovered. “I don’t want your guilt charity.” She handed back the paper but he refused to take it and left, grinding his jaws, without another word.

That afternoon Layla Woods crossed the ward, heading directly for Polly, looking far less confident than usual. Up close, Polly could see she had dark circles under her eyes, as if she’d been on call and hadn’t slept. “I’ve got some information for you.”

“Great. Thank you so much.” Polly glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance.

“I’ve been told this guy is the best OB doc in town. The only problem is the wait list is long, and I think he’s pretty pricey.” She handed Polly the paper, and Polly opened it immediately. Dr. Geoffrey Bernstein.

Polly tried not to hide her disappointment because Dr. Woods had gone out of her way to help her out. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll look into this right away.”

They parted company and Polly watched the petite doctor walk away as a hollow, aching path burrowed through her stomach.

Round one had gone to John. Not only had he found her the most expensive doctor in town, he’d made an appointment for her, too. And he was paying.

As her least favorite Uncle Randolph used to say whenever Polly had resisted her cousin’s baggy hand-me-down clothes: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

So be it. For the good of her baby she’d take the appointment John had made for her, and because she’d been raised right afterwards she’d swallow her pride and thank him for it.

* * *

Three nights later Polly worked her second double shift. It probably wasn’t a wise move as she still hadn’t recovered from the first sixteen-hour shift, even though she’d had the whole weekend to do it. Now she dragged through another.

The pregnancy had zapped most of her energy. She’d also become aware that other early signs of pregnancy were cropping up. Her breasts were tender, and she wanted to sleep more. And she was hungry. All the time. Maybe she’d be one of those lucky ladies who didn’t get morning sickness, but it was still very early along.

For her dinner break, to avoid another gossip-infused lecture from Janetta, she decided to go outside and eat on a bench in the hospital garden. She walked to the elevator feeling more than fatigued, eager to breathe in some fresh air. With all of the gossip at the hospital and speculation about her own situation, she felt as though she had a brick on each shoulder. While she waited for the elevator she rolled her neck around and lifted her shoulders, hoping to release some stress from the stiff muscles.

The elevator pinged and opened to reveal Dr. Alex Rodriguez inside. Alone.

Polly had never seen the man up close before. She entered and tried not to stare at his handsome profile or notice the waves in his thick black hair as it curled along the collar of his shirt.

He stood stoically silent, deep in thought, hardly noticing she was there.

The elevator stopped at the next floor and Dr. Woods got on. Polly’s heart tripled in beats. Layla nodded at Polly, looking noticeably riled, then turned to Dr. Rodriguez. “Hi,” she said, sounding breathy and unconfident as she pressed the button for the lobby, which had already been pushed.

“Layla.” His all-business attitude threw Polly in light of what she already knew about the memo and their supposed past, through Janetta.

“Listen, I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day,” Layla said. “Sticking up for me in the board room and all.”

“It needed to be done.” Curt. Businesslike.

Had she become invisible?

“Well, I want to thank you for that, Alex. It meant a lot to—”

With a quick gesture, he brushed her off. “It was nothing.” He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and that must have bothered Dr. Woods. It sure would have if Polly had been in the doctor’s shoes.

Layla punched the button for the second floor, obviously upset. “Both of us getting out of the elevator together in the lobby would only fuel the fire of the gossip around here.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and the moment the doors opened she started to get out, but Dr. Rodriguez stepped around her and exited first.

Holy cow. Polly hoped and prayed that Layla didn’t think she had participated in the rampant gossip around the hospital. Especially after all she’d done for her.

Dr. Woods let him leave, watched him go, staring, even though the elevator doors had closed again. Polly didn’t know what to do so she kept quiet, hoping maybe she really had become invisible. They continued downwards in silence, Dr. Woods deep in thought, until the doors opened to the lobby.

Straightening her shoulders, she glanced at Polly, the first sign that the doctor had remembered she was there. “He may think this is finished between us, but it isn’t. Not by a long shot.” With that, Dr. Layla Woods, looking determined and undeterred, exited the elevator.

Polly stood frozen to the spot, her mind swirling with what she’d just witnessed. It wasn’t hatred or anger that fueled them, it was passion. Pure and simple. Those two were meant to be together, and somehow, some way, they’d both have to figure it out. Just before the doors closed Polly rushed out of the elevator and toward the garden exit.

As she ate her dinner, she made a vow. No way would anyone hear a hint of what had gone on in that elevator. Their secret was safe with her, and she hoped Layla was right, that whatever they had going wasn’t over by a long shot.

* * *

At the end of her shift, completely exhausted, she went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face, hoping to pep herself up for the long subway ride home. Afterwards, she gathered up her belongings from the employee locker room and headed toward the elevator, the last person to leave from the late shift.

A lone silhouette stood at the other end of the hall. White doctor’s coat, broad shoulders, short-cropped hair, unmistakably John. Her heart fluttered at the thought of facing him after several days. He met her at the elevator door.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“Did a double shift.”

“Should you be doing that?”

She yawned, and covered her mouth. “No choice these days.”

She noticed he festered over that response. He blinked and turned his head as if he had a thing or two to say to her, but had maybe thought better of it.

He looked at his watch. “I don’t like the idea of you taking the subway home at this time of night.”

“It really isn’t about what you like or don’t like, now, is it, Johnny.” Yes, she could be a brat when she wanted to, make that needed to. Being pregnant had put her in a whole new frame of mind. Her baby came first, and John wasn’t on board with her being pregnant. End of story.

“Let me give you a ride home.”

“No way.” But, man, oh, man, her feet were tired, and the thought of walking the required blocks just to get to the subway station did seem daunting at almost midnight.

“Look, I had early surgery today so I drove my car. I’m parked next door. Don’t be stubborn and foolish.”

Stubborn? Look who was calling whom stubborn. “Do you have any idea how big the gossip mill is at Angel’s? People would have a field day if they saw us leave together.” And then found out soon enough I’m pregnant.

“Look, dumpling, I don’t give a rat’s ass what other people think. Right now, all I want to do is give you a ride home.”

“Don’t call me dumpling.”

“Sorry.”

If, and that was a big if, she decided to let John give her a ride home, it wouldn’t be because she was giving in to him. No. It would be because she really didn’t want to face that long subway ride to the Lower East Side. It had been almost two a.m. before she’d gotten in bed the last time she’d worked a double shift and, being honest, she worried she might fall asleep on the subway and miss her exit.

“Okay.”

“Okay you accept my apology or okay you’ll let me give you a ride home?”

“I’ll take the ride.”

He looked surprised, as if she hadn’t put up nearly as big a fight as he’d expected.

Ten minutes later she slid onto the smoothest kid leather seat she’d ever seen in a fancy sedan like his. It was soft and cushy, too, and, oh, the headrest was adjusted perfectly to her neck. She touched the button to lower the head of the seat, making it like a lounge chair, and snuggled in after clicking her seat belt.

John didn’t say a word, but she could see his cheek lift in that unbalanced smile of his. He’d won. He knew it.

But she was reaping the benefits.

Before he’d even exited the parking structure, she closed her eyes and drifted off to a sweet dream about being curled up on the softest sofa in the world, while the sexiest guy she’d ever met touched her knee and talked to her softly.

CHAPTER SIX

JOHN PARKED THE car, walked around to the other side, opened the passenger door and lifted Polly up and out. She slept sounder than his mother’s cat, and only stirred when he pulled her to his chest.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered in her ear, as he motioned with his head to the doorman of his building to let them in.

Marco the doorman gave a deeply inquisitive look but followed orders. John had been a resident in the building for three years now and had never brought a woman home in this condition.

“Drunk,” John mouthed to Marco, who gave an affirmative Aha nod.

“Park the car in your usual spot?” Marco whispered.

John nodded, knowing his car keys would be left in the parking-garage office where he paid a hefty monthly fee for the privilege of driving and parking in New York City.

He punched the elevator button with his elbow and hoped Polly didn’t wake up until he was ready. He’d driven the long way home around Central Park to make sure she’d fallen asleep deeply enough once he’d decided to bring her here.

As he rode the elevator to the ninth floor, he took the liberty to study her close up—flawless skin, though maybe a little pale, ash-blonde hair with waves that made him want to dig his fingers in every time he saw her. Her thick brown lashes fluttered the tiniest bit under his scrutiny and her nostrils twitched as she breathed softly. She was sweet and tender, and he felt the urge to kiss her.

The elevator door opened, and though it was a bit tricky to unlock his door with one hand while holding Polly with the other, he balanced her on his thigh and succeeded, and had them inside in no time at all. Before anyone on his floor had a chance to wonder what in the world he was doing with a woman in his arms on a Monday night at this late hour. He chuckled inwardly, thinking how they’d never probably even seen him with a woman before, had probably assumed he was gay or celibate.

The condo was dark, but he knew his way around by heart and took her immediately to the guest bedroom, where he carefully laid her on the double bed. She stirred but only to reposition herself on her side. Not wanting to freak her out in case she woke up, which surprisingly she still hadn’t, he laid a comforter over her, left the door ajar and went to the kitchen. There, he turned on the light and rummaged around the refrigerator for something to eat.

Three bites into a turkey and Cheddar sandwich he heard the gasp. “Where am I?”

He rushed down the hall to the bedroom. “Don’t worry, you’re at my place.”

“Why am I here?” She came to the door looking groggy and very appealing with mussed-up hair and heavy-lidded eyes.

“You didn’t tell me where you lived before you fell asleep, and you looked so comfortable I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“So you thought you’d make me a prisoner at your house?”

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“Then you’ll take me home?”

“If you insist.”

She stood staring, obviously considering his offer. Maybe she needed some convincing.

“Look, I was thinking of your best interests. I’ve got the guest bedroom and you’ll get a good night’s sleep, then I’ll take you home in the morning.”

“I don’t have to work tomorrow because I did the double shift.”

“That’s fine.”

“Don’t you have to be at work?”

“Not until nine. It’s my clinic day.”

“So you’ll take me home before you go to work?”

He nodded.

She leaned against the doorframe looking drowsy and too tired to put up a fight. “Where’s your bathroom, please?”

He gestured with his forehead towards the door down the hall, then took another bite of sandwich.

On her way back to the guest room she slowed down by the kitchen and gave him a suspicious glance. “Don’t get any ideas about sneaking into that room tonight.” She pointed to the guest room.

“I won’t.”

“Because what we did was a one-time deal.”

He didn’t bother to swallow his bite of sandwich. “By my count, that was a three-time deal.”

Obviously too tired to put up a fight, she tossed him an aggravated look then went inside the guest room and closed the door. At least she didn’t lock it. He took the last bite of sandwich and decided he’d got a kick out of riling her. Come to think of it, there was a lot about Polly he got a kick out of. Now, if there was only a way to get her back into his life on much better terms.

Early the next morning, John had a full breakfast prepared by the time he tapped on her door and woke her up. She rolled out of the room, stretching and yawning and looking even more inviting than she had the night before.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Seven. Have some coffee. It’s decaf,” he said, before she could protest. Somehow he knew she’d take good care of the pregnancy. “I’ve scrambled some eggs and there’s fresh OJ over there. Do you like wheat or sourdough toast?”

“Wheat,” she said, before closing the bathroom door.

The fact that she didn’t throw a hissy fit or make a major protest about getting home right this minute gave him hope, and that notion made him smile. Maybe she was back to being that people-pleaser he liked so much, though the feisty version of Polly definitely had its merits. He smiled and pushed some perfectly scrambled eggs onto a second plate then sprinkled some finely grated Cheddar cheese on top.

They sat on bar stools in companionable silence while they ate at his granite counter.

“Tastes good,” she said, eating a second piece of toast slathered with blackberry jam.

“You’re eating for two now, right?”

He’d named the elephant in the room, and she took her time to respond. “I don’t need you to remind me.” Her gaze was brief and filled with icy-blue warning.

“I want to be a part of this pregnancy, Polly.”

“That’s not the impression I got when I told you about it.”

“I was in shock.”

“You wanted nothing to do with me or this pregnancy. You tried to pay me off, as if I’d go away and never mention another word about it.”

He reached for her hand and squeezed. “I didn’t mean it to come off that way. I wanted you to know you weren’t in it alone, and that you didn’t have to worry about money. That’s all.”

She dropped her gaze toward her lap. “We’re not for sale.”

If that was the metaphor she wanted to run with, he’d play along. “Look at it from my perspective.” He pointed to her stomach. “There’s prime real estate inside there, and though you may be the landlord, I own half of it.”

She made a face at him. “Have you always been this romantic?”

He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“You don’t have the right to make it all neat and tidy like that. Like a business deal.” Polly shoved another bite of egg into her mouth and stared straight ahead. Once she’d swallowed, she leveled a serious gaze at him. “I don’t have a clue what your issues are, but since I believe you do need to be there for this baby I’ll generously consider whatever part of ‘being there for this pregnancy’ you think you can handle.”

He grinned. That was the people-pleasing Polly he knew. “Good. For starters, I intend to go to all obstetric appointments with you.”

Her eyebrows dropped and furrowed. “That’s a very private thing.”

“And one doesn’t wind up pregnant by not doing a few very private things with the father of the baby, does one?”

She sighed. “Okay, you can come to the OB appointments.”

“And you should let me cook for you at least twice a week.”

“You cook?”

“What do you call these scrambled eggs?”

“A six-year-old can scramble eggs, Johnny.”

She’d called him Johnny again, and he’d consider it progress. “I happen to be a good cook, and I want to make sure you get a balanced diet.”

“Look, I may have gotten knocked up with little effort but I am not an idiot. I know how to eat healthily.”

“There was a lot of effort involved in you getting pregnant, as I recall, and for the record you didn’t get ‘knocked up’, as you so poetically put it, on your own.”

Silence stretched on for a few seconds while he regrouped. How long would he have to keep pointing out to her that she didn’t have to be in this alone? If he didn’t handle things right this time, he could blow it all for good.

“I was on birth-control pills,” she said. “I swear I was, but I’d taken antibiotics a few weeks back for a sinus infection.”

“I see.” He understood perfectly what she was getting at, she didn’t want him to think she’d set him up. Antibiotics could interfere with birth control pills’ potency and effect for a couple of weeks after use, enough to make a woman potentially vulnerable to pregnancy. Under the circumstances, and without added protection, which they’d completely blown off that night, pregnancy wasn’t out of the question. Polly and her baby onboard were living proof.

John ate the remainder of his breakfast vigorously. The real question was, though, why hadn’t she thought about that when they’d made love? Ah, hell, why hadn’t he thought about anything but how much he’d wanted her that night? There was no point in making this a blame game. What was done was done. They’d had sex, hot sex, and made a baby.

Though there was no way on earth he could invest emotionally in the pregnancy, or be a proper father, he could at least be an ally for Polly during a time when she would definitely need a friend. As for after the pregnancy? He downed the last of his orange juice. Well, he was content to take it one step at a time for now, and she’d just have to understand.

“So I’ll wait for you at the hospital parking lot on Thursday when you get off work, and take you to your appointment.”

“Okay.” She sounded like a teenager who’d given up on getting out of a major book report. “But can you take me home now? I’d really like to shower.”

“Of course.”

On Thursday, Polly ran a little late after change-of-shift report and had to run-walk to meet John at the car. He’d had the car brought up to the entrance and leaned against his silver sedan, checking his watch as she jogged his way.

“Sorry! We had some late admits and I couldn’t just dump and run.”

“I’ve already called the doctor’s office and let them know we may be a little late. I’ll drop you off in front then park.”

“Great. Thanks.” She fixed the flying strands of hair around her face, knowing her skin was probably shiny from working hard all day and that her colored lip gloss had long ago been chewed off. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

The least he could do, was that how he looked at it? Was he only trying to get away with doing the bare minimum so as not to come off as a deadbeat? Boy, had she been there and done that with her aunts and uncles after her mother had died. Every part of that equation made her skin crawl, yet here she was, riding in John Griffin’s fancy car on her way to the doctor’s appointment he’d arranged. She was sick of people going through the motions on her behalf, but that seemed to be the repetitious hand life had dealt her. Resigned, she’d just have to make the best of it this time, not for her but for her baby’s sake.

Dr. Bernstein’s nurse was ready for her the minute she walked in and whisked her into one of the examination rooms in the glamorous medical suite. She had no intention of letting John in on the actual examination.

The doctor looked to be around John’s age and had gentle hands and an affable personality. He looked intently into her eyes as she explained her side of the pregnancy, and she believed him when he promised to keep her and the baby healthy and happy for the next eight and a half months.

“You can get dressed then meet me in my office,” he said on his way out the door after the thorough examination.

Polly suffered a surprise when she entered Dr. Bernstein’s office only to find John already sitting there, chatting amicably with “Geoff”, as he called him. The moment Polly stepped inside the conversation stopped and John shot up. He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit. She’d give him points for always being a gentleman.

“Polly,” Dr. “Geoff” started right in, “you are a healthy young woman, and at this early stage in the process I’d say you’re going to do well. Your uterus and cervix look good, the pregnancy is implanted securely in your uterus lining, and your pelvic cradle should handle the body changes just fine. I want to get some baseline lab work done for you and start you on prenatal vitamins. In a couple of weeks we’ll do an ultrasound.” He scribbled on a prescription pad, ripped it off and handed it to her, then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Do you have any questions?”

“My due date?”

“Right. My calculations show March twenty-eighth, give or take a day or two.”

The skin on her shoulders and arms prickled. Somehow, this actual date of birth made everything come into focus. It was real. She’d have a baby and be a mom beginning March twenty-eighth. John must have noticed her emotional reaction when he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. She couldn’t help the brimming tears. She was going to be a mother in eight short months from now. Only because the long and stressful day had caught up with her, and she needed it right this moment, she accepted John’s comfort as she buried her weeping eyes on his shoulder.

Back at the car, John grinned at her as he let her in the passenger side. “You agreed to let me fix you dinner twice a week, and I thought tonight would be a good time to get that routine rolling.”

“You don’t even know if I have food allergies or anything.” She’d recovered from the emotional high in the doctor’s office and had pulled up her guard again.

“Chicken tetrazzini with wholegrain noodles and a garden salad.”

Her mouth watered at the description. “I hate onions. Does it have onions?”

“Not now. I hope you like garlic, though.”

She bobbed her head as she slid inside the car. Hating having to hold back all her excitement about being pregnant, she tightened her jaw and ground her teeth for most of the ride back to John’s condo.

Marco the doorman gave her and John a knowing nod when they walked inside, and it made her pause. Had she ever seen him before? The small but tasteful lobby gave her the impression that well-off, long-time New Yorkers lived in the building. What a difference from her turn-of-the-century walk-up.

Though John had overall masculine flair in his taste in interior design, a maroon leather couch and chair with glass and chrome tables got her attention, and across the room a surprising floral-upholstered overstuffed chair and ottoman looked beyond inviting.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room that flowed naturally into his kitchen. “You need to rest as often as you can.” He tossed her the newspaper he’d just sorted out of his pile of mail. “Read this while I get cooking.”

“Don’t be so bossy.” At a little after five o’clock she was hungry and more than ready to eat, and decided not to give him a hard time, so she did what she was told and put her feet up, shaking out the newspaper and reading the headlines of the day, all of which were depressing.

She surreptitiously kept track of him while he cooked. He wore khaki slacks that fit in all the right places and a pale blue shirt. He’d removed the tie while he’d shuffled through his mail, and the open-collar look held her interest longer than she’d wanted. But most of all what kept her riveted to watching John was how he genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. She liked discovering that about him.

He ran a tidy kitchen and was very comfortable in it, like cooking was a less sterile version of surgery. She thought of her living arrangement and the tiny outdated appliances she shared. What she’d give to have such a gorgeous modern kitchen at her fingertips. The comfort of the chair and the simple dream of living in a place like John’s soon had her closing her suddenly weary eyes...

“Dinner’s ready!”

Polly sat bolt upright. What time was it? She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She’d taken a forty-minute nap. The hint of garlic, chicken and freshly drained pasta weaving their way from the kitchen and up her nostrils was heavenly. “Give me a sec to wash up, okay?”

“Of course.” He whistled while he set plates and flatware on the bistro-sized table in the corner of the kitchen, and she stopped a couple of moments to enjoy the sight.

The food smelled fantastic and her taste buds went into overdrive, looking forward to the meal as she hurried down the hall to wash her hands.

He hadn’t lied. John Griffin was a darned fine cook. Every mouthful sent jets of pleasure through her gastronomic senses. She could get used to these twice-a-week meals, maybe bargain for a third as time went on. Piecemeal, really, since that was all he was offering in the way of getting involved in the pregnancy. Far be it from her to want to ruin a delicious dinner, but really was that the best the man could offer? She continued to eat with a disappointed outlook.

After a few bites John put his fork down and cast a pressing gaze at her. She wasn’t about to stop eating, but the daunting stare did slow her down a bit.

“I want you to know that I liked you right off. You know, that first week you came to Angel’s. I, or we, did something crazy and out of character, and now we’ve been thrown together in some pretty astounding circumstances.”

She wanted to ask him how long he’d practiced the speech, but decided, as he was finally opening up, not to be a smart-aleck.

He cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m only skirting around the perimeter of our predicament.”

She started to protest his calling her pregnancy a predicament, but when she opened her mouth he raised his voice a pre-emptive notch. “I don’t think any guy would know how to handle it perfectly, but I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m just being honest with you, because I think you deserve it.”

He got up, refilled his water glass, took a long draw and sat back down. “There’s something you need to know about me. Maybe it will explain why I’m not all balloons and bubbles over your pregnancy.”

Sensing his earnestness, she put her fork down and gave him her total attention. “Go ahead, John.”

As if the words strangled and fought in his throat, John’s pained expression made Polly brace for what he was about to say.

“I don’t even know if I told you that I used to be married. Happily married for two years. My wife, Lisa, was a financial adviser.” His voice clogged and he stopped every sentence or two to clear it. “Anyway, we were happy because she’d just found out she was pregnant.”

The heavy foreshadowing made the gourmet meal in Polly’s stomach suddenly feel like a large lump of paper maché. John talked to the table rather than engage her eyes.

“We’d stayed up late, planning, all excited about our baby, how our lives would change.” He had to clear that stubborn lump in his throat again. His nose ran and he wiped it with his paper napkin. Instinctively, the hair on Polly’s arms rose and John’s profile grew blurry.

“We were going to tell my parents over dinner that night. I kissed her goodbye that morning and she went to work on the twenty-second floor of the World Trade Center on September eleventh.”

Chills rolled over Polly’s skin. Tears broke free from her eyes and she realized the implication of that fateful day. She’d been a high-school student at the time, eating breakfast and listening to the kitchen radio when she’d heard the news report. She grabbed John’s knotted fist and squeezed tight. Oh, God, he didn’t need to say one more word. She understood. He’d lost everything he loved and held dear on one historic day.

Polly got up from her seat and circled around John, banding her arms around his chest as she cuddled him from behind. He sat stoic, like the rock of Gibraltar he’d tricked himself into becoming—for survival’s sake, she was sure, she understood that now. Bleeding emotionally for his loss, she stayed with him wrapped in her arms for several long moments as she mulled over their circumstances. She was willing to give him a pass for now, for not committing to their child beyond the neat and tidy logistics of appointments, well-prepared dinners, and finances.

Slowly, as she stood hunched over, holding him, a tiny thought wiggled and snaked its way clear of her emotional landslide on John’s behalf. The thought gained power and implanted itself in the center of her head. That was twelve years ago. Was John determined to keep his life stagnant and take the loss to his grave? More importantly, would Lisa want that for him?

They may have made love under unusual circumstances, but something bigger than both of them had come out of it. They’d made a baby. He could never get his wife or child back, but she and John had made a little life that was growing inside her. A baby with a birth date. March twenty-eighth.

* * *

It was Polly’s turn to clear her thickened throat. “John, please don’t get me wrong, I realize how horrific your loss was. But twelve years have passed, and that’s no excuse for abandoning your responsibility to this child.” She stood straight and placed her hand on her currently flat abdomen, one hand anchored to his shoulder. “This baby needs you now. You’re the father.”

He sat staring at his plate rather than acknowledge her, and when she’d given up on him answering she dropped her hands from his shoulder and her stomach and cleared the dishes from the table.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, belatedly.

“No, this is my way of thanking you for a great meal.” As long as he held onto the past, she’d never have a chance to really get to know him.

John removed the remaining dishes and joined her at the sink. Together they worked in silence, cleaning the kitchen.

“Can you take me home now, please?” she asked, once everything was done.

“Sure.”

Noncommittal seemed to be all the man could offer, and his history explained why, but that definitely wasn’t something she’d settle for, and John really did need to let go of the past.

* * *

John watched Polly from across the kitchen. Her petite frame looked good in anything she wore, which happened to be hospital scrubs. She was right about so many years having gone by, he knew. He couldn’t argue with the logic of being held captive by a time capsule, but the habit had become so deeply rooted into his being that he couldn’t seem to break free. He’d been one of the first responders at the scene and to this day he had flashbacks of treating the injured and mangled, of staring into the faces of the dead, while desperate to find his wife. He’d taken risks amongst the falling debris and rubble searching for Lisa, but it had all been fruitless. She’d died and taken most of him with her. To this day he questioned why he’d lived and she hadn’t.

When Polly had gathered her things, he got his keys and they headed for the elevator.

An hour later, due to heavy traffic conditions, when John dropped Polly off at her century-old building on the Lower East Side, a crazy idea popped into his head. She was the one accusing him of abandoning his responsibility to the child. She’d probably never agree to it but, what the hell, when the time was right, he’d make his pitch.

He’d double-parked and watched while she climbed the stoop stairs and buzzed herself into the building. The thought of her surviving during the long hot summer while being pregnant and living in the ancient brownstone walk-up didn’t sit well. He couldn’t offer his heart to a stranger, but he owed her the common decency of making sure she was comfortable and cared for.

Patience, John, give her some time to realize how hard things will get on her own, then you can make her the offer she can’t refuse.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FRIDAY MORNING POLLY was measuring out liquid antibiotics at the medicine station for the three-year-old toddler in Room Twelve B when John appeared in her peripheral vision.

He pushed a small brown bag her way. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Your lunch,” he said, already walking away.

“I made my own lunch.”

“Save it for tomorrow. You’ll like this better.”

“How do you know that? Maybe I’ve been craving peanut butter and jelly all day. Maybe I’ve been dreaming about my home-made lunch since breakfast.” When had she reverted to being a contrary teenager again? Could it be the hormones?

He stopped, turned and flashed that slanting smile, his dark eyes reminding her of milk-chocolate chips. Beneath his knee-length doctor’s coat he wore a white shirt and blue silk tie, looking dressier than usual. She inhaled, the savory scent coming from the bag already making her mouth water. Something warm and spicy awaited her, thanks to Dr. Griffin, the father of her baby.

He’d gone out of his way to bring this to her so the least she could do was be grateful.

She mouthed, “Thank you”. He dipped his head and walked away. Truth was, she could easily get used to him catering for her, and wondered how abruptly it would end once she had the baby. She glanced around, noticing Brooke and Rafael giving her odd looks. Oh, man, what must they think? The last thing she needed was to get picked up for the gossip grapevine like that poor Dr. Woods and the neurosurgeon, Dr. Rodriguez. Thank goodness Janetta didn’t work the day shift.

After finishing the obviously home-made minestrone soup with spinach and chicken meatballs, Polly found at the bottom of the lunch bag a large peanut-butter cookie with a note hidden behind it.

Meet me for an early dinner at Giovanni’s tonight? See you there at five.

How could he be so confident she’d come running just because he’d told her to? She went back to work determined to blow him off. Let him sit there and wait for her to show up. She may be pregnant, but she was darned sure not to be taken for granted because of it.

As the afternoon wore on, she prepared a teenage soccer player for surgery on his left knee and right shoulder. She’d given him his pre-op medicine and shot and stayed close by until the transportation clerk could take him to the operating room. As his eyelids grew heavy and he dozed off, she thought about John and his sexy blue silk tie and that off-balance but charming smile. Did she really want to play games with him? He’d asked her to dinner, had seemed sincere enough, and she had no reason not to go, so why stand him up?

The man had been to hell and back over the past twelve years. Here he was getting a little sparkle in his eyes again, and the last thing she should do was give him a hard time. It wasn’t in her nature to play games with men anyway. Besides, in her dating life the guys had always been much better at game-playing than she could ever compete with.

No, after work she’d take her time and freshen up then walk over to Giovanni’s for another dinner with John. Memories of what had happened after the last time they’d eaten there made her lose her step but not stumble. She’d make sure it didn’t happen again, and maybe she’d ask him to drive her home, just to make sure. Besides, lately the fumes in the subway made her feel nauseous.

To her surprise, John was already there, waiting, when she arrived. He’d ordered bottled water instead of Chianti, too, which was sitting on the table. He stood when he saw her, and the smile he gave was definitely genuine. So was the warm feeling inside when she smiled back at him. Without his doctor’s jacket she could see his solid, football-player physique, and it spawned a quick flash of being naked in his arms and near bliss.

“If you like shrimp, I recommend the scampi,” he said, sitting down after she’d shaken the sexy thought from her mind and taken her seat.

“So much for idle conversation. You say dinner. You mean dinner.” She picked up the menu and scanned the specials.

“I’m sorry, is there something you’d like to talk about?”

She screwed up her face. “No. It’s just, well, customary when meeting someone for dinner to start off with small talk like ‘Hi, how was your day?’ or something before getting right down to ordering.”

“Sorry. I have an administrative meeting at seven.”

“On a Friday night?” There went her chance for a ride home. “So why’d you invite me here, then?” If he wanted to get right down to business, so could she.

He poured both of them a glass of the sparkling bottled water then took a drink of his. “I want you to move in with me.”

She almost spit her water right into his face, but instead she swallowed it wrong and coughed. He patted her back, looking concerned. She coughed and hacked for several more seconds, eyes bugging out, feeling embarrassed about how she must look. He looked on, earnestly trying to figure out how to help her. After she settled down she said, “You what?”

“You heard me right. I’ve been thinking about this and as we’re having this baby together, it’s the least I can do.”

That warm something or other she’d felt momentarily when she’d first walked in and seen him smiling at her turned to ice. “The least you can do? Well, how kind of you, sir. Thank you for the magnanimous crumb.” She stood, fully intending to leave. “As far as I’m concerned, you can take that crumb and shove it!” With the room melting down to nothing as her anger overtook every cell in her body, she stomped towards the exit. Before she made it to the street, a big, strong hand grabbed her arm.

“Hold on, hothead.”

She yanked back her arm and kept moving, now outside the restaurant. He followed close behind. “Leave me alone. You’re a jerk.”

He managed to get in front of her, planted both hands on her arms and forced her to stop and look at him. “I know I’m a jerk. I can’t figure out how not to be a jerk or how to handle this thing. Give me a break, will you? I’m trying. I want to do what’s right, okay?”

The fury rumbling through her chest lost strength with each of his sentences. The man was being painfully honest, how refreshing, and she could see it in his tense yet imploring eyes. She blinked then glanced at the darkening sky. She’d made a point to never depend on anyone after the day she’d turned eighteen. Being a child at the mercy of uninterested aunts and uncles had been the most painful part of her life. She couldn’t allow herself to depend on John, though she sure could use his help for a while.

Was it wise to get more deeply involved with someone she barely knew? No. Especially since she’d had a fierce crush on John until everything had gone to hell in a handbasket with this surprise pregnancy.

“Well?” John said, confusion with a touch of impatience in his stare.

“I’m thinking. Can’t you give me a minute?” She glanced at him, reinforcing his jerk status, then went back to staring at the sky. She didn’t know what the heck she wanted from John, yet he was offering to open his home to her. It wasn’t all about herself any more. Nope. She had a baby to think about. Was there anything wrong with testing the waters where John was concerned? She wouldn’t dare get her hopes up or anything, but maybe for a while staying with John in a strictly platonic way could be useful for both her and her baby.

“Okay.”

He lightened his hold. “Okay what? You’ll give me a break?”

“I’ll move in.” Why mess around with pretenses. She was knocked up. He was the father. She hated where she lived, and he’d just offered her a room in his homey condo—a beautiful apartment in a gorgeous part of the city. Why be coy?

“Just like that, you change your mind. You’re ready to move in?”

“Yes. I’ll try it out for a week, see how things go. It will depend on whether or not we’re compatible. In a strictly platonic way. Got it?”

His shocked expression quickly turned to happy, then ricocheted to suspicious. “Whatever you say, dumpling.”

She slowly shook her head. Even if it was a crumb, he’d offered to help, and though she’d been prepared to make it through this pregnancy on her own, she appreciated his gesture, knowing it was way out of his comfort zone. How often in her life had she been invited into a home? Why not take advantage of a win-win situation? A nice place to live. Good food prepared in a kitchen without grease stains everywhere. A roomy bathroom without leaky faucets, mildew, and cracked tile. She could walk to work. Take walks by the East River in the evenings. If she got sick there’d be a doctor in the house.

He tugged on his earlobe, a combination of relief and shock registering on his face. “Okay, then. It’s settled. One week with the option to make it longer, okay?”

“Sweet.”

“Now will you have the scampi?”

Against her will a laugh escaped her lips. “Sure, why not?” He guided her back into the restaurant. “It isn’t every day a girl gets a proposition she can’t refuse, plus a shrimp dinner.”

He ran his hand over his short hair. “Yeah, well, it didn’t come out the way I’d practiced.”

She sputtered another laugh. “You practiced that?”

“Like I said...” He pulled out the chair so she could sit back down.

It did her heart good to see a grown man and skilled orthopedic surgeon, department head like John Griffin fumble and stumble over his words and actions because of her. Maybe she and the baby did mean something to him. Don’t let yourself go there. He’s got a lot of proving to do first.

She sat down and took another sip of water. There was only one way to find out if the man cared about her or not, and under these challenging and unusual circumstances she’d made a snap decision to find out.

By moving in for a week.

* * *

Saturday afternoon, John helped Polly move out of her tiny rented room and managed to fit everything in the trunk and back seat of his car. She’d decided to bring everything so she wouldn’t have to keep running back to the old place for this or that as the need arose. Besides, there wasn’t that much and why leave anything for Mrs. Goldman to snoop through while she was gone?

When she assessed all her worldly belongings, it made her heart feel a little heavier in her chest. The only precious item was a small cherry-wood jewelry box that had belonged to her mother. In it was a delicate gold locket with an enameled cover. It was heart shaped and opened to her mother’s picture on one side and Polly’s on the other. Thinking about her single cherished item from twenty-one years ago made her wonder what object John still treasured from Lisa.

Back at the apartment, she would set the boundaries right off—she intended to stay in his guest room rather than share his bed. Until he could move on from his past, there was no point in trying for a real relationship with John. It kind of hurt her feelings when he didn’t put up a fight about their sleeping arrangements, but she let those thoughts pass.

For a reputed grumpy old department head, John had been polite and helpful the whole weekend, and she began to see the balloon-twisting, cast-signing side of him. The man all the kids on the orthopedic ward adored. He made coffee in the morning and breakfast after that. Before she could offer to make lunch, he beat her to it. Being in his home, he was more relaxed and extremely considerate about making her feel welcome. If only the rest of the staff could see through his shield, but children seemed to have that special gift of looking into the true heart of a person. As for her, she was happy for the new glimpse of him.

On Sunday afternoon John took her on a walking tour of his neighborhood, which was another way of making her feel welcome. Delighted to find a yarn shop, she talked him into letting her go inside. Not in the least bit interested, he waited outside, chatting with a neighbor he’d run into, and she made her purchase quickly, embarrassed to let him see what she’d bought. It was silly, she knew, but she hadn’t knitted in a long time and, well, she was pregnant! She kept the items in a brown bag and his lack of interest made it easy to drop the subject so on they walked through the amazing and upscale neighbourhood of Sutton Place.

They ended the tour on a bench at a small park overlooking the East River. How different this part of town was from the Lower East Side. From a money standpoint, John lived a charmed life, but she knew the whole story—he was alone and hurting. Terribly alone. Even though it seemed he was the one with all the advantages, she knew she could bring something sorely missing into his life. Maybe, with this pregnancy, she could help him experience joy again.

As she stared at the Queensboro Bridge arching across the river, she hoped for any tiny miracle that could open John’s heart again. If an unexpected pregnancy was what it would take to shake some life back into him, so be it.

Deep in thought, she jumped when he took her hand. “What do you say we head for home?”

Home? Did she really and finally have a home?

“I thought I’d make pasta for dinner tonight.”

So far he’d cooked all the meals. “Why don’t you let me cook tonight?”

“Let me take care of you.”

Polly couldn’t let herself dream too much. All the years she’d never let herself get too comfortable wherever she was staying had trained her to take nothing for granted. If she got swept up in this little fantasy of having a home, it would hurt that much more when reality kicked in, and in her life reality always stepped in.

“Besides, you’re my guest. It’s my job to make you feel at home.”

So she was just a guest. She really needed to keep that in mind. She may as well let him wait on her, and while he made the spaghetti sauce she’d start her knitting project.

By Monday, Polly didn’t know how the hospital radar had picked it up so fast but she’d noticed odd glances and hushed conversations that stopped abruptly whenever she got near. It wasn’t in her nature to be paranoid, but she was beginning to wonder if someone had been spying on her and John over the weekend.

During lunch, while eating another carefully prepared meal by John, she cornered Darren and grilled him. “Is something going on I don’t know about?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” he said, taking a huge bite of an Italian lunchmeat sandwich.

“What’s everyone whispering about?” She decided to continue to play dumb.

“We’re all wondering exactly when you and Dr. Griffin found the time to become a couple. That’s all.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“You’re not. A couple.”

She thinned her lips and shook her head.

“Who made that lunch for you?” He used his sandwich to point at her wholewheat bread, sliced chicken with avocado and sprouts sandwich.

She thought about lying but that wasn’t in her nature. “John—I mean Dr. Griffin did.” She didn’t want to come clean until she cleared it with John.

“And who’d you walk into work with this morning?

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